


Footprints on the Heart

by Impishgrin



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 88,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impishgrin/pseuds/Impishgrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Room wasn’t the only organisation to try replicating Dr Erskine’s formula using children as test subjects. When an internationally-spanning SHIELD investigation uncovers one such group operating on American soil with families kidnapped from war-torn areas of the Middle-East, the Avengers are called in to shut them down.<br/>Permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the _Avengers_ and no money is being made from the writing or publication of this work
> 
> Dedicated to FrozenMetalFire whose comment on my previous Avengers' work inspired this one.
> 
> Set in 2018

In the nineteen years Phil had known Natasha Romanoff, he could still count on his fingers the number of occasions where she has shown herself to be emotionally compromised. He only needed three fingers to count the number of _people_ she had allowed to witness such vulnerability so arriving on the Helicarrier Bridge to find the Russian assassin on her knees and vomiting the contents of her stomach – which were substantial since Bruce had been responsible for cooking breakfast that morning – on to the deck plating was cause for serious concern.

Bruce knelt beside his lover, ignoring the rest of the Bridge personnel and rubbing a soothing hand up and down Natasha’s back. The scientist himself was taking on an unhealthy shade of green that was only partly due to his alter-ego while Steve and Tony looked furious. All three men were forming as much of a shield as they could around their downed teammate and outright glaring at anyone who looked their way for too long. Phil grabbed the nearest tech and ordered them to have a medic called to the Bridge with a mild antiemetic before grabbing a water bottle from the table and crouching down in front of his ailing charge.

“Tasha?” he asked gently, tipping her head up and sweeping her flaming hair away from her face. Natasha gave an uncharacteristic whimper of pain and distress at the sight of her handler and Bruce pulled her close.

“I take it Agent Romanoff has been reading ahead?” said Fury as he appeared on the Helicarrier’s Bridge, stalling any further interrogation on Phil’s part.

“You’re twenty minutes late,” said Tony, rounding on the man. “Damn right we skipped a few pages.”

“So I take it I won’t be needing to explain why you’re called to Assemble,” said Fury. Steve straightened up, his own angry gaze fixing upon Fury.

“How long have you known this was going on?” he demanded.

“We first heard rumours of this particular ring about eighteen months ago,” said Fury. “The initial investigation was left to the local authorities to carry out and SHIELD started to investigate eleven months ago when some of our operatives in the Middle-East reported numerous occasions where very young children were disappearing during the night.”

“And the reason it took eleven months for you to decide we needed to become involved?” asked Steve.

“Which direction would I point you in, Captain?” asked Fury. “It has only been within the last four days that we have been able to put names and visual IDs on the targets.”

“Nicholas, we’ve had this conversation before,” said Tony, folding his arms and looking defiant. “Lying to the Avengers doesn’t end well for SHIELD.”

“This is an _espionage agency_ , Stark,” said Fury sharply. “Lying comes with the territory.”

“No,” said Tony. “Lying to the _public_ comes with the territory. Lying to your operatives is a sure fire way to get them hurt or killed. You could have stuck us on this nine months ago.”

“Thought I warned you to removed JARVIS from our mainframes,” said Fury. “Such an open connection leaves us highly vulnerable.”

“It’s just as well I didn’t,” said Tony, moving to the briefing table and flipping open one of the briefing files, throwing six grainy images on to the table.

“Lars Götze,” he started, pointing to one of the images. “Arrested seven days ago in Marion, Ohio, on charges of forgery, specifically passports and green cards. Fabio Cassano: arrested nine days ago in Totowa, New Jersey, on charges of trafficking controlled substances, and his partner-in-crime, Jóse Sanchez, was arrested three days later. Michiel Van Coomb was arrested later the same day in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, charged with embezzlement and fraud. Ahmed Ridha and Nick Nader: both arrested five days ago, the former in Stanford, Connecticut, for social-security fraud and the latter in Providence, Rhode Island, for charges that aren’t actually recorded.”

“Your point is what, Stark?” asked Fury as a medic appeared with the medication Phil had requested.

“My point is that you have records of five of these men dating back _at least_ nine months,” said Tony. “You have transcripts from wire-taps and bugs. You have video footage for clandestine meetings and CCTV feeds. You have reports from Agents who have been sent undercover. Why are you only bringing us in _now_? And who exactly are you expecting us to catch?”

“A particularly nasty character that these men will only refer to as _Shikra_ ,” said Fury, opening the file he held and dropping a seventh picture on to the table. Natasha jerked in Bruce’s arms, upsetting her bottle of water while Phil turned pale. The medic looked concerned by both reactions, particularly since Natasha also lost a considerable amount of her remaining colour.

“ _Shikra_ is dead,” Phil said, his calm voice belying the volatile expression on his face. The Avengers turned to their handler.

“You’re sure?” asked Steve. Phil nodded.

“Hawkeye fired the fatal bullet nine minutes and eighteen seconds before he informed me he’d found SHIELD a new recruit,” he said. “In Grozny, Chechnya. Nineteen years, four months and twenty-three days ago, give or take a few hours.”

“That’s…… worryingly precise,” said Tony, raising an eyebrow in silent question for the rest of the story.

“I could give you the grid coordinates as well,” said Phil, holding his hand out. “That mission was the last time Black Widow was reported as being on Russian soil. Can I see the photograph?”

“You’re saying six strangers are wrong?” asked Bruce as Tony handed the photograph to Phil, Natasha glancing at the image as well. Upon recognition of the grainy figure, she lurched out of Bruce’s hold and lost the remaining contents of her stomach, the nearby SHIELD Officers swearing in shock and surprise.

“That would be a definite yes,” said Tony.

“If the right facts are excluded from an explanation people can be made to believe just about anything another wants them too,” said Phil, holding the image back towards Tony. “This isn’t _Shikra_ – it’s _Pallid_.”

“And the link between the two?” asked Tony, dropping the image back on to the table with disdain.

“Blood,” said Natasha, her voice hoarse from the abuse her throat was being put through.

“ _Pallid_ is _Shikra_ ’s younger brother,” said Phil. “He was sixteen years old when _Shikra_ was killed.”

“These guys got real names?” asked Tony. “Cause tracking the aliases and codenames SHIELD gives people isn’t the easiest job in the world.”

“Sergei and Dimitri Mostovoi,” said Phil. “Sergei’s dead.”

“Looks like Dimitri’s trying to pick up big brother’s mantel,” said Steve with a concerned glance at Natasha who was once again cradled in Bruce’s arms, both lovers looking decidedly worse for wear. The Captain looked back at Fury, his expression suggesting his next statement would broker no argument.

“Director, we will continue our investigations the Tower.”

“Keep me informed,” Fury instructed before he swept off the Bridge.

“Like we’d get the option of doing anything else,” Tony griped.

“Tony, enough,” warned Bruce, shifting around so that he and Phil could help Natasha to her feet.

“You want to leave straight away or give your stomach time to settle?” he asked.

“Leave,” said Natasha, visibly trying to pull herself together before she had to exit the Bridge. Bruce nodded and stood close enough to his lover that he could be used as a support should she wish it but far enough away that he was not crowding her.

“What are we dealing with, Phil?” asked Steve as Tony snatched up the files and photographs from the table, not showing any care with the documents but neither of his companions finding much enthusiasm to call him on it.

“I have no idea,” said Phil. “We never profiled Dimitri beyond how he related to Sergei. He dropped off of just about everyone’s radar after his brother was killed.”

“What sort of danger are they in?” asked Steve. Tony nearly dropped the files as his fingers twitched.

“They?” he repeated. Steve glared at him.

“Do not be obtuse,” he warned. “It doesn’t suit you. Clint killed Sergei, you really think Dimitri is going to let that lie?”

“Sergei was already dead when Natasha explicitly betrayed Red Room,” said Phil, interrupting Tony’s response to Steve. “Anyone with sufficient marksman training would be able to determine exactly where Clint fired from. But, until we can get a profile on Dimitri I can’t say anything for definite. And the rest of you will make for pretty practice targets.”

“Think we’ve already proved we don’t go down as easy as people would like,” said Steve. “And we certainly don’t do it without a fight.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” said Phil. “All the same, I’d rather have you plan for the worst case scenario.”

“In which case, can I get my archer back?” asked Steve.

“Excuse me?” said Tony. “He’s _my_ archer. I’ve got the legal paperwork with his chicken-scratch on it to back that claim up – go find your own.”

“Leaving aside the fact that _I_ have the legal documentation to claim Clint as _my_ archer,” said Phil. “Getting him home was the next thing on my to-do list.”

Steve nodded his thanks and, with an uncompromising hand pressed between Tony’s shoulder blades, the remaining two Avengers left the Bridge.

“Agent Taylor, call a cleaning crew to the Bridge,” Phil instructed the nearest technician. “Agent Monroe, find me a way to contact Agent Barton.”

* * *

“Where is she?” demanded Clint as he dropped his go-bag and his rifle case, none to gently, into a corner of the War Room on Level 91 of the Tower. Steve jerked his head up at the younger man’s sudden appearance.

“You never made to Korea did you?” he asked with a small smile, taking in Clint’s desert coloured combat clothing.

“I did,” said Clint. “Just never made it further than the hotel. Where’s Tasha?”

“Level 84,” said Steve. “Nursery with Pepper. The kids are loving the attention, Pepper is concerned and Natasha is minutes away from completely freaking out on us.”

“We’ve been given the job of hunting down the brother of the man who made her life a living hell for close to twenty years,” said Clint. “I’m surprised she made it this far.”

“You’ve been briefed?” asked Steve, slightly surprised.

“Agent in Seoul was waiting with a packet,” said Clint. “I read it on the plane back. You got anything to add?”

“Just questions,” said Steve. “Phil said Dimitri Mostovoi was sixteen when you killed his brother. There was that big an age difference between them?”

“Papa Mostovoi made sure to claim all his bastards,” said Clint. “There’s ten of them all together, Sergei was number two, Dimitri tenth, and every single one of the boys were Red Room raised. Natasha was fifteen when Red Room took her from the streets of Novosibirsk and paired her with eighteen-year-old Sergei. Red Room treated their street-rats like guinea pigs for their super-soldier program and the ones who survived were trained to be the perfect assassins. Those of Mostovoi’s ilk were treated like princes and trained to be their handlers – brutal, sadistic and perverse. Sergei loved the power that gave him and the fact that Natasha fought 99% of the instructions she was given by Red Room only pleased him more.”

“A bullet to the head was too quick a death for him,” said Steve. Clint gave a cold laugh that seemed horribly out of place coming from the man who was regularly found entertaining children. It served to remind Steve that SHIELD had trained Clint to be just as deadly as Natasha should the occasion arise.

“A bullet to the head was the fatal shot,” he said. “Doesn’t mean it was the only one I fired. You know where to find me.”

“Leave the gun here,” said Steve, motioning to the Glock 19 9mm that was strapped to Clint’s thigh. Clint shook his head.

“Until we catch this son-of-a-bitch, I’m staying armed,” he said. “Tasha will be too.”

“Even around the kids?” asked Steve, wary.

“ _Especially_ around the kids,” said Clint. “Don’t worry, Cap. All my guns are RFID encoded – there is no way any of the kids could fire it even if they did pick it up.”

“Alright,” agreed Steve. “There’s a briefing at 0900 tomorrow morning.”

“We’ll be there,” said Clint and, with a mock salute, turned on his heel and retreated back into the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

“Unca Hawk!” cheered four-year-old Ashley Hogan as Clint entered the nursery, launching herself across the room and into Clint’s arms, her stuffed turtle being dragged along for the ride. Clint swept her up with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead (and to the turtle’s when Ashley thrust it up before him) and received a messy one to his cheek in return. Welcome ritual complete, Ashley settled herself so she could look at Clint in confusion.

“Early!” she declared, gesturing to the large day-chart that Clint and Pepper had helped her pin up three days earlier. Two of the boxes had a shaky brilliant red X over the date while the rest remained unblemished.

“I know, Strawb’ry,” said Clint. “But Uncle Phil told me that Auntie Tasha is hurt and he asked me to come home and help her.”

“What ‘bout bad man?” Ashley asked. Clint smiled gently.

“He’s still out there,” he said. “But someone else is out looking for him. Uncle Phil wants me to help Auntie Tasha to look for somebody else.”

“Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve and Uncle Bruce help this time?” asked Ashley. Clint nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “And Uncle Thor if Asgard can spare him.”

Ashely looked satisfied with the arrangements and settled herself against Clint’s shoulder, stuffed turtle curled between them. Clint shifted her slightly so they would both remain comfortable before looking to Natasha and Pepper. Pepper had her attention torn between her grouchy seven-month-old son, Zach, and watching the rest of the room’s occupants while Natasha looked pale and on high alert despite her surroundings.

“JARVIS, does Tony know I’m here?” Clint asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

“I have not informed him of your arrival,” replied JARVIS. “Nor has Captain Rogers.”

“And no one is expecting me,” said Clint, glancing at Ashley. “Want to help me and Auntie Tasha drag our scientists out their labs?”

Ashley nodded enthusiastically, twisting in Clint’s arms to look pleadingly at her mother.

“You stay with Uncle Clint,” Pepper warned. Ashley deflated slightly – she loved rummaging in the various component trays in Tony’s lab, the engineer doing his best to encourage her – but she nodded.

“I will,” she promised. Pepper stood and slid Zach into Natasha’s arms, visibly startling the Russian and letting Clint see a little more of exactly how badly their mission was affecting his partner.

“Bruce was working on a teething ring for him,” Pepper said. Natasha continued to look wildly between mother and child until Pepper rested a hand over one of the assassin’s. No words passed between them but Clint caught the small release of tension from between Natasha’s shoulder-blades.

“Bedtime is in half-an-hour,” Pepper said to Clint as she moved to leave.

“But, Mom, it’s the weekend!” he mock protested. Pepper smacked the cusp of his shoulder before making for the elevator. Clint turned back to Natasha, his grin sliding from his face as he watched her awkwardly attempt a settle Zach against her. Clint looked to Ashley.

“It OK if Auntie Tasha carries you, Strawb’ry?” he asked. Ashley, who had also been watching Natasha hold Zach in a way that would usually see Tony being relieved of the boy, nodded. Clint crossed to his partner, set Ashley on the floor before her and scooped the still grumpy Zach out her arms, snagging up a blanket and fashioning it into a sling around the boy, securing him snuggling to his chest. Natasha still looked wary as she picked Ashley up, twisting her round so the four-year-old was on her back rather than hip, but she was decidedly more relaxed than when she was holding Zach.

“All set?” asked Clint, fishing his American Silver Eagle out of his pocket and handing it Zach.

“Yes Unca Hawk,” cheered Ashley while Natasha smiled slightly at her partner.

“Prolozhit' put', dyadya yastreb,” she said. Clint stuck his tongue out at her, earning a giggle from Ashley, before turning on his heel and leading the way out of the nursery, Zach happily chewing on the coin Clint had given him.

* * *

That Tony and Bruce were in their most heavily reinforced lab should have alerted Clint and Natasha to the fact they were doing something destructive. As it was neither assassin was sure they wanted to know what Tony and Bruce were working on when they appeared in the labs to find the place looking like a bomb had exploded in it. DUMMY and U were attempting to hide under one of the workbenches while a small group of excited looking college students stood against a wall taking notes with varying level of detail. In the middle of the disaster zone stood Tony – who was wearing his Iron Man suit, minus the helmet and gauntlets – and Bruce scrutinising results on a StarkPad and making alterations to what looked like a molecular structure model.

“Think the kids realise that it’s after seven on a Friday night?” Clint asked, purportedly to Natasha but announced to the room at large. The six occupant of the lab turned to the new comers, one of the students squeaking in her surprise.

“I think they have forgotten outside world,” replied Natasha, twisting Ashley off her back and on to her hip.

“They’re all working on their postgrad degrees,” said Tony, tapping something on his tablet and shoving it into Bruce’s hands before picking his way across the debris field. “Monday night is party night. Aren’t you supposed to be off running across some remote island or other?”

“Was the original plan,” said Clint. “However, Boss decided my talents were needed elsewhere.”

“Babysitting the rug-rats apparently,” said Tony. “Pepper know you’ve brought them down here?”

“Uh-huh,” grinned Clint, using one hand to cradle Zach’s head in protection as he leant forward to steal a kiss from his husband, startling another squeak from one of the junior scientists. Between them, Zach burbled then sneezed, breaking them apart. Clint’s grin had disappeared and he pointedly looked over Tony’s shoulder to where Bruce was quietly talking to Natasha while Ashley played with something on the tablet the physicist had handed her.

“How’s she been?” asked Clint. Tony shook his head.

“Terrified,” he said quietly. “To the point she _publically_ lost her breakfast on the Helicarrier and now is refusing to leave the kids alone if she can help it.”

“Where’s she sleeping?” asked Clint. Again Tony shook his head.

“I’m not sure she is,” he said. “All I know is that wherever Pep or Happy put the kids down to sleep, she’s there within a matter of minutes. Frankly, she’s starting to freak _me_ out.”

“With good reason,” said Clint. “The guy we’ve been asked to hunt down is the younger brother to the man who had a very intimate hand in shaping the Red Room Assassin I was sent to eliminate nearly twenty years ago. The chaos in here?”

“Mixture of helping out the gaggle of adoring postgrads Hannah decided to point our way,” said Tony, gesturing towards the four students who had, thankfully, decided that their studies were more important than the ogling, and sighing stupidly over, of two very well established couples. “And a certain Army General being monumentally stupid again.”

“Hannah is merely trying to help with that Philanthropy title of yours,” said Clint with a small laugh, shifting Zach slightly when the infant sneezed again. “What’s Ross done this time?”

“He’s making another push to have Abomination released from underground,” said Tony. “Unfortunately, it looks like the current Administration is close to letting him have his way. We’re trying to work out a drug and delivery system that will allow us to drop the Big Ugly when SHIELD inevitably sends us to do damage control.”

“You explain that to the Other Guy or you just shooting him with random pointy objects?” asked Clint, taking a closer eye at the destruction. Tony looked slightly offended by the implied unethical treatment of a valued teammate.

“I told him,” he said. “But you know how some kids get when they have to have shots? He’s reacting the same way.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Clint. “The postgrads got an office here?”

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Was a condition of working on the project – everything stays at the Tower until their deadlines.”

“And they agreed?” blinked Clint, remembering how the apartment Hannah and Theo shared in Cambridge had become a sea of textbooks, journals, lab-books and notebooks of continuous dissertation re-writes during their _undergraduate_ studies. Things had only got worse when both had applied for postgraduate studies.

“There’s an apartment attached,” Tony defended. He _did_ have three PhDs to his name, he was well aware of what pursuing a postgraduate qualification meant and the actual lab work took up only a small proportion of the process.

“Can you kick them out?” asked Clint.

“You wanting a proper welcome home?” asked Tony, leering slightly.

“Something like that,” chuckled Clint. “Problem is, Pepper told Ashley that she was to stay with me while we were in the labs.”

“Right,” said Tony. “Kicking out of the baby lab-rats, giving the rug-rats to Bruce and Tasha before finding our own bed?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” said Clint with a grin. “Want some encouragement not to grab that tablet back from Bruce the second you get close enough?”

“Never say no to encouragement,” said Tony. Clint chuckled and once more drew Tony into a kiss, this one being decidedly more seductive than the previous one. The clatter of something behind them indicated that at least one of the students had looked in their direction at exactly the wrong moment.

“I see ya upstairs,” Clint said when they eventually broke apart again. Tony grinned, reeled Clint in for another, briefer, kiss, and span of his heel to disperse his junior scientists. Clint chuckled as Bruce rolled his eyes before persuading Ashley to let go of the tablet in her grasp and wrapping his arm around Natasha’s waist to gently steer her towards Clint and the elevator.

“Phil really doesn’t take no for an answer about you two does he?” said Bruce as the doors closed behind them. Clint chuckled while Natasha gave a small, slightly embarrassed, smile even as she set Ashely on the floor.

“Hell, Fury and the WSC,” said Natasha. “When someone takes black mark to save your life, makes it difficult to believe otherwise.”

“Told me that he never grew out of that childish temptation to take ‘no’ as a challenge,” said Clint. “He’d smack me when I’d try the same excuse but when it works in my favour I’m not gonna complain too much.”

“Neither am I,” said Bruce. “Tony is not subtle, you want me to take Zach now or you gonna put him down?”

“Put him down,” replied Clint. Bruce nodded and crouched in front of Ashley.

“Squirt sleeping with you tonight or do we need to stop off for Thumper?” Ashley considered the toy that had yet to leave her grip.

“Squirt,” she said. Bruce chuckled and held out his hand.

“Give me some fin,” he said. Ashley obligingly slapped Bruce’s hand with the turtle’s flipper before Bruce bent forward.

“Some noggin’,” he continued and his forehead was bumped by the turtle’s.

“Duuude!” both Ashely and Bruce chorused, sending the child into peels of giggles. Clint grinned while Natasha looked torn between copying his expression and rolling her eyes.

“Was mistake to have Disney marathon,” she declared instead. Bruce and Clint looked at her like she’s uttered some heinous oath while Ashley was now flipping the turtle by its flippers and repeating the mantra of ‘fin, noggin’, duuude’.

“It’s _never_ a mistake to have a Disney marathon,” Clint declared. This time Natasha did roll her eyes.

“You just like to ogle at Jack Sparrow,” she declared as the elevator doors opened.

“ _Captain_ Jack Sparrow,” corrected Clint. “And no I don’t – Commodore Norrington is much more appealing.”

“Which is why you found an excuse to leave after movie number three,” chuckled Bruce. “Has Tony managed to join the dots yet?”

“JARVIS, is _The Boat That Rocked_ still on the movie system?” asked Clint.

“Yes, Sir,” replied JARVIS.

“What about _FlashForward_ the TV series?”

“All episodes are available, Sir,” replied JARVIS. Clint grinned at Bruce.

“That would be a no,” he said. “If he had, we’d have _none_ of Jack Davenport’s movies in the database. OK, Strawb’ry, clean teeth please.”

“Auntie Tasha, you help me count?” asked Ashely, handing Squirt to Bruce. Natasha nodded and allowed the child to lead her into the bathroom where the tap was soon heard along with Natasha’s voice counting out the seconds. Clint himself turned to the cot where an army of soft toys could be found guarding the edge of the mattress from the wooden spars. Fishing his now discarded Silver Eagle from the blanket sling, and slipping it back into his pocket, Clint undid the knot at his hip and, gently dotting a kiss to his forehead, placed the now dead-to-the-world Zach amongst his plushie guardians.

“Any tips on how I get her to sleep?” asked Bruce quietly, hoping Natasha was sufficiently distracted not to hear the conversation. Clint gave a choked sounding exhale, momentarily gripping the side of Zach’s cot tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“I got a few,” he said. “But none would be suitable around the kids. She’s on high alert, Bruce, she won’t settle until she’s convinced she’s safe – that means weapons under the pillow and an upset sleep pattern. The best you can do is hold her, let her know she isn’t alone and give her the chance to have an eye on both the kids and an emergency exit. She’s gonna be calling the shots, you just need to support them.”

“Don’t need to ask that,” said Bruce with a small nod just as the water shut off and Ashley came bouncing back into the room, wrapping her arms around Bruce’s thigh. The physicist handed Squirt back to her before scooped her up so she was at eye-level with all three adults.

“You be good for Auntie Tasha and Uncle Bruce,” Clint charged. Ashely nodded and allowed Clint to kiss her forehead before Bruce turned to the bed while Clint grabbed Natasha’s wrist and pulled her to the hallway. He unsnapped a metal bracelet from around his right wrist and wrapped in around Natasha’s wrist before crouching down to unholster his backup Ruger LCP, pushing it into her hand as he rose.

“You spook and you grab those kids, hole-up somewhere safe and use that gun to protect them,” he said firmly. “You call for backup and you do not leave their side. You do _not_ go looking for revenge, understand?”

“I have every right to exact revenge,” snarled Natasha.

“Not when you have my goddaughter looking to you for protection,” replied Clint sharply. “You can’t protect anyone if you’re dead and _their_ safety is the most important responsibility you have right now.”

Natasha looked ready to angrily protest further but Clint gently covered her mouth with his hand.

“You will get your revenge, Ryzhiy,” he said gently. “But, please, we never got the childhoods we deserved, don’t give Ashley and Zach the same scars.”

“Kak vy khotite,” said Natasha, removing Clint’s hand from her mouth and slipping the Ruger into her waistband before turning back into the bedroom.

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan before rolling his shoulders and turning back to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translations **
> 
> _Prolozhit' put', dyadya yastreb_ – lead the way, Uncle Hawk
> 
>  _Ryzhiy_ – red
> 
>  _Kak vy khotite_ – as you wish


	3. Chapter 3

Unsurprisingly, Tony had beaten Clint back to their room and was sitting half dressed in the middle of the bed skimming through the last half-hour of the lab security footage. He looked up when Clint closed the door with a gentle click and tapped the screen to pause the replay. He then threw the frozen image up on to the wall and Clint paused in shucking his boots to blink at the image.

“You hinting at something, Tony?” he asked, wondering why Tony had decided to pause at the moment where he had arrived in the lab, his arms instinctively cradling Zach against him chest despite the blanket sling the infant was wrapped in.

“Not hinting,” Tony said. “Just admiring how sexy my husband looks when he’s playing Papa.”

“Is that what you call it?” chuckled Clint, returning to the removal of his clothing. “’Cause to me that looks like I’ve lost a bet with Pepper and she’s gotten adventurous with the forfeit.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” shrugged Tony. Clint smiled.

“Why do you think I insisted on getting a copy of you and Ashley messing around in the labs?” he said.

“Blackmail purposes,” replied Tony, cancelling the image and tossing his tablet to one side. “Enough about the kids – I believe I owe you a proper welcome home.”

“That you do,” grinned Clint and, dressed solely in his underwear, crawled forward to claim a kiss that was unencumbered by battle armour, blanket wrapped infants and lingering scientists. Tony wrapped one hand around the back of Clint’s neck and hooked the other arm under his armpit, leaning backwards and letting gravity carry them down on to the pillows. Clint had just enough awareness to catch most of his upper body weight on his forearms, sending the fingers of one hand to tangle with Tony’s hair while the other forced its way underneath Tony’s shoulders to hold the engineer close. Their legs tangled together, Tony hooking an ankle around Clint’s knee and simply holding him in place as the first kiss became a second which became a third, each one deepening in turn until desperate need for air force them apart. Clint buried his face in the crook of Tony’s shoulder with a groan as the engineer bucked his hips in order to flip their positions. Tony unwrapped Clint’s hands from around his shoulders and neck and carefully pressed them into the pillow.

“Keep them there,” the engineer said. Clint shook his head.

“Control’s near shot,” he said. Tony canted his head.

“Want me to tie them?” The way Clint’s breathing hitched and his pupils dilated at the question was enough of an answer for Tony and he was quickly off the bed and headed for the drawer where several ties lay rolled. Grabbing the first three he could lay his hands on, Tony returned to the bed, snagging up the bottles of mineral oil and lubricant from the bedside table as he passed. Dropping the bottles on to the coverlet, he looped one of the ties around both of Clint’s wrists, stretching them above his head. Taking a moment to ensure the bond wasn’t at risk of pulling too tight and to press a kiss to the entwined rings tattoo on Clint’s right bicep, Tony fed the other ties through the handcuffing loop but did not fasten them to the headboard just yet.

“On your front, my hawk,” Tony said gently, one hand resting against Clint’s side to indicate the way he wanted Clint to roll. Clint went without protest, shifting the pillows and bending his elbows so that he was able to lay comfortably. Tony straddled his husband’s thighs and snatched up the mineral oil, snapping the cap to drizzle it across Clint’s back. Clint jumped at the touch of the cool oil but quickly found himself melting into the mattress as Tony set about massaging out the knots between his shoulders and neck – a painful consequence of two-and-a-half days of air travel. As he worked, Tony would periodically stop to press a gentle kiss to one of the numerous scars, and accompanying tattoos, that littered Clint’s back, each one a silver-etched reminder of just how dangerous the archer’s job was. He paid particular attention to the four inch scar that ran between Clint’s right hip and the lower curve of his ribcage and its snake clutching bald-eagle tattoo, an unwanted trophy from a double-IED explosion that had seen Clint caught in the epicentre five years previously. The same level of attention was giving to the ragged tear scar and wingless Roman eagle on his left hip, a visceral reminder that the mission to Grozny where Clint had pulled Natasha in from the cold was not as simple as SHIELD reports would suggest.

“You’ve got yourself one hell of a guardian angel,” murmured Tony as his fingers encountered the scar that cut across the bottom of Clint’s spine, this one adorned with a stylised A. Clint released what was either a moan or a choked laugh in response.

“Most people call him Phil,” he said, bringing his arms down to rest under his cheek as his back arched into Tony’s touch. He gave a definite groan when Tony’s fingers released the knot that had gathered just below the scar before they teasingly dipped beneath the waistline of his boxers. It was a barely-there perfunctory sweep before Tony shifted around so he was facing Clint’s heels. Clint gave a murmur of protest and started to turn to find out exactly what Tony was playing at but was quickly stopped by the engineer running his hands down Clint’s thighs. Clint’s resemblance to a puddle of goo became more pronounced as Tony continued, particularly when the engineer gently turned him over and started making his way back up (nearly getting himself kicked when he reached Clint’s knees).

“You still with me, babe?” asked Tony gently, cupping the side of Clint’s neck. Clint’s eyes were glazed when he turned to look at Tony. He blinked and swallowed, obviously trying to reply to Tony’s question. Tony smiled at him, brushing his thumb beneath Clint’s eye.

“Still want me to tie you up?” he asked, running his hand up to finger the tie that still wrapped around Clint’s wrists. Clint moaned lightly and shifted his arms so that the ties would reach the headboard. Tony’s own breathing hitched at the acquiescent move and he made quick work of the additional ties, fastening them to the headboard and leaving Clint splayed on the bed. Still watching Clint’s face, Tony allowed one hand to wander down, the back brushing gently against his face and neck before turning over at the collar bone to run down the archer’s chest. Nimble fingers briefly played with the peeking nipples they found, Tony adding just the hint of nail as he drew a figure of eight around the two, before slow winding its way down to Clint’s boxers to cradle the warm heat of the well-developed arousal trapped in the fabric. Clint moaned and bucked into the hold.

“Glad to see one part of you can still respond properly,” said Tony, running his hand up and down. Clint bucked again, seeking the friction which Tony happily supplied.

“Turn…… let me do……” Clint gasped out. Tony, who was now slowly sliding Clint’s underwear down and off, shook his head.

“This is for you,” he said. Clint shook his head.

“Want……” the rest of his complaint was lost as Tony swooped down to claim a kiss that quickly stole what remained of Clint’s breath. Clint arched into both the kiss and the hand that had returned to stroking his erection.

“This is for you,” Tony repeated when he broke away and immediately ducked down to swallow Clint’s erection. Clint cried out in mingled surprise and pleasure, arching up into the warm heat of Tony’s mouth. Tony chuckled around his mouthful, forcing another yelp from his husband who was now fighting a losing battle to keep his hips still, not wanting to choke the other man. Tony was having none of it, however, and he gripped Clint’s hips and encouraged the other man to thrust. His argument was helped by the occasional deep-throating and soon they’d found a rhythm together that quickly saw Clint flying towards the edge far quicker than the archer wanted.

“Tony, stop,” he panted, the rhythm of his hips now jerking spasmodically. “Tony, please.”

Tony, true to form, stubbornly refused to heed Clint’s warning and continued to apply lips, tongue and teeth to drive Clint higher, adding an occasional teasing glide along Clint’s perineum. When he felt the tell-tale quivering in Clint’s thigh, he titled his gaze back up to Clint and employed one more deep-throat swallow and rubbed a deliberate finger across his perineum.

Clint’s resultant cry of release had the couple glad that the apartments of Stark Tower were built with sound-proofing as standard.

Tony laughed lightly as he crawled back up over Clint to gently brushed Clint’s sweaty fringe away from his face and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, helping the younger man refocus, his other hand hunting out the bottle of lubricant.

“Back with me?” he asked when Clint finally managed to focus on him, albeit with a slightly dazed expression.

“Bastard,” he rasped out. Tony laughed and shifted so that he was able to run a now slick finger around the fluttering muscle of Clint’s entrance.

“Wasn’t that part of the reason you married me?” he asked, pressing one finger inside the warm channel. “Pretty sure you put it up there with flamboyant showman and massive ego.”

“And sneaky son-of-a-bitch,” replied Clint, the last word finishing off with a choked moan as Tony quickly introduced a second finger and unerringly found his prostate. Tony grinned and stole a quick kiss that Clint quickly ensured grew into more than the brief touch Tony had intended. Not that the engineer was about to complain and he set about disproving the idea that men were incapable of multitasking. He shifted until his free arm was able to cradle around Clint’s head and his fingers card back into the sweat-spiked blond hair while the other continued to carefully tease his lover open, all the while maintaining the kiss. Eventually, however, the need of air and the combined efforts of Clint’s heat and Tony’s overactive graphic imagination forced them apart and Tony shifted again so that he was kneeling between Clint’s thighs, hissing as his used the remaining lubricant on his hand to slick up his own length.

“Look at me, babe,” he requested, holding himself still at Clint’s entrance and needing a few seconds to regain his composure or this was going to be embarrassingly quick. “We still good?”

“Yeah,” panted Clint, subconsciously testing the bonds around his wrists. “Yeah, still good.”

Tony was slow. He was always slow and gentle when he had Clint spread before him, no matter how loud his own need shouted at him to go harder and faster. Clint’s own pleas for the same were usually ignored as well which had seen Clint use his strength to flip their position and take control on more than one occasion. Right now, however, the prolonged foreplay meant that Clint was near insensible and Tony seriously doubted that he’d have been able to try anything even if he hadn’t been tied to the bed.

That meant as much time as his control allowed to show Clint, through gentle touches, kisses and whispered words, exactly how precious and loved he was. How grateful Tony was that he had consented to be his friend, his lover and his husband. Clint gasped out responses to Tony’s compliments, adding a few of his own, and did his best to maintain eye contact with the other man as he did so. Eventually, however, – and far sooner than either man was ready for – Tony lost his tenuous grip on his control and he curled around Clint, burying his face in the crook of the archer’s neck and shoving one arm under Clint’s shoulders to hold him close as his thrusts became harder and off-rhythm. Clint keened at the increased assault of his prostate and outright yelped when Tony’s free hand wrapped around his resurgent erection, his back arching in pleasure as he pulled against his restraints.

“How close?” Tony asked, sounding completely wrecked.

“Hair-trigger,” Clint choked out, his back arching again as Tony swiped his thumb over the head of his cock.

“Together,” Tony determined and Clint keened again.

“Ready…… when you are……” the archer agreed, shifting the grip of his legs so as to restrict how far Tony was actually able to pull back. In retaliation, Tony tightened his grip around the column of flesh in his hand.

It only took another five sharp, half aborted thrusts from Tony, each one landing square on Clint’s prostate, before the archer climaxed for the second time that night, his cry of release a garbled combination of a victory cry and Tony’s name. The splash of Clint’s semen and the vice-like grip around his own erection sent Tony rocketing after him, spilling hot inside his husband with an equally garbled shout before he collapsed forward.

The pair lay together in a sweat-covered, panting tangle of limbs for a few minutes, enjoying the endorphin high. Clint burbled mournfully when he felt Tony slide from him and as soon as he was capable of feeling his fingers, Tony stretched up to pull the ties free of the headboard, sliding the third off from around Clint’s wrists. Clint immediately brought his arms around Tony’s shoulders and, uncaring of the mess across his stomach, held the older man close, nuzzling into his hair as he made the most of his high.

Tony curled happily into the warmth and delightfully familiar smell and touch of his husband, more than willing to delay the clean-up.

“Love you,” murmured Clint, tightening his hold when Tony showed no sign of wanting to move.

“Love you too,” replied Tony, pressing a kiss to Clint’s collarbone. “And welcome home.”

* * *

Assistant Director Maria Hill was not pleased to see Clint the following morning. Tony wasn’t pleased to see the woman in his Tower but Phil had at least pre-warned him over breakfast that the international nature of the Avengers’ current assignment meant closer SHIELD involvement which included Hill as something of a liaison. Tony promptly rearranged the SHIELD-Avengers briefing to take place in one of the conference rooms on Level 64 – he refused to have Hill or one of her associates any closer to the Avengers’ living quarters than strictly necessary.

“Agent Barton, should you not be attending a debrief with Director Fury?” she asked when she entered the room with three unknown individuals to find Clint and Natasha casually carrying out maintenance on a quintet of Alaskan Harpoon and a trio of Raider I knives, talking quietly to each other while Bruce was sorting out cups of coffee and tea. “You appear to have completed your mission on Yeonpyeong well ahead of schedule.”

Clint threw her the cocky smirk that always had Phil or Sitwell suppressing the desire to smack him.

“No ma’am,” he said. “But Deputy Director Coulson requested my presence in New York soon as was convenient. When I found out the reason behind his request, I found convenient a lot sooner than was originally planned. Fury was made aware while I was still in Seoul and the local SHIELD office is making the necessary arrangements regarding the mission to Yeonpyeong.”

“Barton, you know the importance of that mission’s success!” exclaimed Hill. Clint levelled a dangerous look at SHIELD’s second-in-command, pointedly setting the Raider down in front of him.

“I weighed all necessary options before leaving Korea,” he said. “And the life of _one_ man, with very tenuous links to AIM and Al-Qaeda, does not rank particularly high against the innumerable lives of children on a mission where SHIELD had finally deemed it necessary to call in the Avengers. I am not SHIELD’s only assassin, Hill.”

“No,” agreed Phil as he finally appeared with Steve and Tony. “But you are our best. Nevertheless, I requested your return so, Agent Hill, we will leave this discussion until it can be held in private and return to the matter in hand.”

“Chief of which is – who are the extra suits?” said Tony, looking pointedly at the three strangers who had seated themselves across from Clint and Natasha and all three of them looking wary of the miniature arsenal before them.

“Adrian Davis and Carolyn Rothman,” said Phil, indicating each individual in turn. “They’re from the FBI’s Violent Crimes Against Children International Task Force. Paul Marks is FBI Fugitive Recovery and come by way of a personal recommendation.”

“And they’re here because……” prompted Tony.

“Different set of eyes,” said Phil, accepting a cup of chai tea from Bruce. “And potential sources of information.”

“Ah, you do remember JARVIS, yes?” said Tony. Phil rolled his eyes.

“JARVIS can get you all the files you want,” he said. “But, sadly, he cannot tell you the practicalities of working on the ground.”

“Tony, deal with it – they’re here ’til we catch this son-of-a-bitch,” said Steve, moving to one of the imbedded StarkPads and throwing an image on to the three projector panels around the walls while the rest of the team settled where they could see.

“Meet Dimitri Mostovoi,” Steve started. “Born 10th February 1983 in Minsk, Belarus, the youngest of 10 siblings – six boys, four girls. Raised by his mother until the age of three being trained in a number of Red Room facilities across the now defunct USSR, including Kyiv, Riga, St Petersburg, Siberia and Vladivostok. His training included, but was not limited to: firearms, unarmed close-combat, psychological warfare and cyber intelligence. At the time of Sergei Mostovoi’s death in 1999, Dimitri was being mentored to take on his own asset. Because of this, SHIELD assigned him the codename _Pallid_. He was, however, over 1300 miles away in St Petersburg at the time of Sergei’s death.

“In August 2002, Dimitri entered the US on a four year student visa where he studied computer science and mathematics at the Californian Institute of Science. He graduated with honours in June 2006 and three weeks before his visa expiration, he applied for both political asylum in the USA and a tourist visa to Canada. The former was declined by the State Department on grounds of the substantial delay between entry into the US and the asylum request while the latter was granted. Once in Canada, he again applied for political asylum which was granted by the Canadian Government in the May of 2007. He applied for citizenship in 2008, by which time he had fathered two children and was reportedly engaged to be married. There is no record that the wedding ever took place.

“Financially, Mostovoi worked as an ethical hacker and programmer for Safe Harbour Informatics Incorporated, based in Vancouver for three years before freelancing his skill set out to the highest bidder from 2010. This freelancing saw him became a frequent traveller, particularly between Canada, the US and the Emirate of Dubai. According to the Canadian Government this is still his employment, his international movements backing that up.

“He apparently has a very pricey skill set because in 2013, in addition to the property he owns in Vancouver, he bought property in three further locations along the Canadian-US border: one in Vermont, another in Alaska while the third is in Ontario. According to both US and Canadian authorities, Mostovoi still owns all the properties though the one in Vermont is held in trust for his son – Aleksei, born 18th April 2007 – while the Alaskan property is held for his daughter – Nikita, born 21st March 2008. He hires local residents to maintain the properties when he isn’t in residence.

“His relationship to most of the six individuals SHIELD currently has in custody in appallingly legit. Götze and Von Coomb are involved in the same line of work as Mostovoi; Nadar is the CEO of the company hired to look after the Vermont property; Ridha is apparently a recipient of Mostovoi’s day job in Dubai. I can’t find a connection between Mostovoi, Sanchez and Cassano.”

“Did you sleep at all, Cap?” asked Clint swinging back around to face Steve, looking both impressed and slightly sick at the Intel packet.

“Probably more than you did,” Steve replied, tapping the side of his neck where a passion bruise was developing on the corresponding spot of Clint’s neck. Tony thought it was a shame that Steve and Bruce no longer blushed at the overt demonstrations of his and Clint’s relationship.

“Question,” Bruce asked, glancing curiously between Phil and Steve. “If Mostovoi dropped from everyone’s radar after his brother’s death, how have we got all this detail?”

“SHIELD watches with Skynet not JARVIS,” replied Steve, having asked the AI exactly the same question ten hours previously. Clint laughed at Tony’s smug expression while Hill looked decidedly annoyed. Phil decided not to encourage either side to start a slagging match and skimmed to the end of the file.

“JARVIS not able to pinpoint Mostovoi’s current location?” he asked.

“Last known location was Whitehorse, Yukon Territory,” said JARVIS, sounding put out that Phil was questioning his abilities, startling the three Federal Agents. “He used a credit card under the name Damien Mitrishev to buy gas, two bottles of water and a box of raspberry donuts at 1432 on Tuesday.”

“Sorry JARVIS,” said Phil with a small chuckle. “Can you display all property a map?”

“Certainly, Agent,” said JARVIS and the grainy photograph of Dimitri Mostovoi was replaced by a map of the continental USA and Canada, yellow beacons hovering over Anchorage, Vancouver, Thunder Bay and St Albans.

“And places of business?” asked Phil. As red beacons started popping up across the map, it looked like the two countries were suffering from a sudden bout of the measles.

“Bastard certainly gets around,” muttered Clint, examining the sunken StarkPad in front of him.

“Which leaves _us_ with a definite problem,” said Tony. “Phil, we’re five people – eight if you count the newbies – and only one of us can actually go anywhere without getting mobbed by the press. How does this help us?”

“This is part where I pull rank as SHIELD TIC,” said Phil with a smirk. “And I have a couple favours I can call in if I need to.”

“Start with the Port of Los Angeles,” said Clint. “Port Metro Vancouver, Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal and Port of Richmond.”

“The reasons for those choices?” asked Phil even as he noted the suggestions.

“We’re linking Mostovoi to a group that is trafficking children into the US, and potentially Canada,” said Clint. “Port of Los Angeles is the biggest port on the western seaboard while Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal is the biggest on the eastern. The other two are alternate options if things get a little hot.”

“So basically a random stab in the dark,” said Hill. “I think I’ll assign agents to do some ground work first before you start sending people in potentially the wrong direction, Barton.”

“You’ve had eighteen months to work on the ground work, Agent Hill,” said Tony. “It doesn’t seem to have got you any further than the Avengers’ front door. I think we’ll give the tried-and-tested team of Agent Coulson and Hawkeye a shot this time around.”

“His suggestions are a little more than a ‘stab in the dark’, Director,” said Marks, earning himself something of a glare from Hill. “Mostovoi has a high level of activity in both LA and New York, both of which have busy international shipping ports. He’s a self-employed hacker and, judging from his bank balance he’s a good one. If he’s expecting a shipment, all he needs to do is create a legitimate reason for his presence in either city and deal with his secondary business while he’s there.”

“It’s gonna be difficult to pin him to any shipments into Port Metro Vancouver,” said Davis. “Living in a city is a damn good alibi.”

“We’ll find something,” said Clint, looking to Natasha. “Think Pepper will let us take the kids on a day-trip if we promise to stick with Bruce?”

“Depends on where this day trip is going,” said Natasha.

“Well Ashley’s been pestering to go to the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden ever since it appeared on _Cyberchase_ ,” said Clint. “Pepper’s not gonna disagree with that.”

“Clint, back up a couple steps for me,” said Steve, noticing the disdainful looks the federal agents and Hill were levelling at the archer. “At the moment it just sounds like you’re wanting to wriggle out of work to mess around with the kids.”

“We’re gonna need a cover,” said Clint. “Tony’s already said – only one us can actually go somewhere without someone trying to snap a photo or a story. We can barely avoid it in New York – if we just show up way outside our city, someone’s gonna notice. We could spook Mostovoi and his minions and we lose track of him. We show up with the kids, very obviously out for a family outing then we divert attention and the suits can do their jobs more effectively.”

“Works for me,” said Phil, Marks nodding his agreement. The two Innocent Images Agents did not share their sentiment but held their tongues. Hill, however, had no such compunction.

“Agent Barton, if you are not going to take this mission seriously you will find yourself rotated on to the next flight out to Korea where you will stay until you have completed your original mission. Is that understood?”

“Good luck finding Mostovoi without them,” said Bruce, looking up from his own StarkPad. Hill blinked, somewhat stupefied, at the mild mannered scientist while the three Federal Agents looked between the various Avengers in curiosity.

“Without _them_?” repeated Davis. Bruce nodded.

“Mostovoi has a somewhat intimate past with the Black Widow and Hawkeye,” he explained. “The aforementioned assassins are SHIELD’s best and are fiercely loyal to each other and their handler – you go after one, you earn the wrath of the others. Mostovoi is accused of being involved in child-trafficking and experimentation. Within this building, there are two children whom they have sworn to love, cherish and protect – that promise is what will take precedence over any orders that SHIELD will give them. So, as I said, Agent Hill – good luck finding Mostovoi without them.”

“How intimate a history are we talking?” asked Marks.

“I was originally an asset to Sergei Mostovoi,” said Natasha, her fingers twitching around her recently cleaned Alaskan Harpoon blade.

“And I’m the one who killed him,” said Clint. “This particular mission is what you might call personal.”

“You sure you should be working it?” asked Rothman. “That’s a little close to be objective.”

“Being _objective_ isn’t always the best mind set for an assassin to have,” replied Clint.

“A debate that can wait for another time,” interjected Phil. “Hawkeye, Black Widow, provided Mrs Hogan agrees, plan your day-trip for some point early this coming week. Mr Stark, you and I are going to take half that map each and try to see if we can get a better picture of Dimitri Mostovoi. Act like an interested client or prospective employer. Agent Marks, you work with him, Rothman you’re with me. Agent Davis, start looking into Mostovoi’s international travel movements – see if they match with any SHIELD reports regarding missing children. Dr Banner, you think you can work with him?”

“I’ll help him,” said Steve, Bruce sending him a somewhat relieved smile of thanks.

“Which leaves Agent Hill to go brief Fury,” said Tony, turning to the woman, delighted to have an excuse to get her off his property. “Happy can take you back to HQ.”

“Now wait just a minute,” said Hill but Phil overruled her.

“There is nothing for you to do here, Maria,” said Phil.

“And the Director did ask that we keep him informed of our progress,” said Steve. “It is better that you do it in person than have me send him a file-transmission.”

“I expect to be kept in the loop,” declared Hill. Steve inclined his head in polite agreement and Hill strode from the room. The door had barely closed when Tony started to tap on the StarkPad in front of him.

“I want in on the phone call when she realises what you’re doing,” said Clint as he and Natasha both stood and re-sheathed the blades they had continued to clean and sharpen throughout the briefing. With a small parting smile for Bruce and a sharp nod to the remainder of the Avengers, Natasha strode from the room. Clint ran his knuckles across the nape of Tony’s neck and gave Bruce a reassuring smile before delivering a cheeky salute to Steve and Phil and disappearing after his partner.

The three Federal Agents sat looking somewhat bemused by the behaviour of the two assassins (not least that they wore at least a dozen weapons between them as casually as anyone else would a sweater) while the remaining Avengers and their handler all tried to tamp down on their increasing concern for the emotional wellbeing of their comrades.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil hadn’t followed his charges back to apartment levels of the Tower after the briefing. Instead, he had left Tony and Steve to sort out the necessary arrangements for the FBI Agents, up to and including any necessary sleeping arrangements, while he retreated to his office on Level 64. Once there he sat staring at the multi-image frame of pine and dark-oak, specifically the image of his charges. The photograph was nearly eighteen years old, taken in Cappadocia, Turkey, where the pair had joined a training exercise with the Turkish military. Phil _still_ hadn’t got the story from either of his charges as to who they’d managed to persuade to take the picture – which showed the pair dressed in sandy-tan ABUs and standing with their arms around each other’s shoulder on a rocky ledge with the Fairy Chimneys and a spectacular sunset of blue shot gold in the backdrop – but he had come into his office the day after they’d returned stateside to find the image sitting in the exact middle of his desk protector alongside a Turkish lira coin.

Phil had been ridiculously proud of his charges that day. An injury he had sustained on a mission to Guam had seen him put on restricted duty for a month and unable to follow them to Turkey as had been the original plan. With his charges not known for following orders unquestioningly, Phil had had spent the sixteen days waiting for the report that stated they had been unceremoniously kicked out of the training for one reason or another but no such report ever crossed his desk. Instead he had received notes of commendation from the Turkish Captain responsible for the training, commending the pair for their teamwork, combat skills and their leadership skills. Phil hadn’t thought twice about adding the photograph to the single non-SHIELD issue item on his desk: the photograph frame that, until that point, had contained a single picture of Phil crouched beside his ten-year-old son, his best friend grinning from a similar position on the boy’s other side. Clint had choked on his soda the next time he caught sight of the frame, forcing Phil to explain to a mildly concerned Natasha exactly who the strangers were and why Clint had reacted as he did.

The photographs of Ian and Thom had both been updated in the last eighteen years, the former to include the FBI-sniper’s lover and the latter because Thom was now a married thirty-two paediatrician as opposed to a ten-year-old peewee baseball player (Kit was also included in the updated photograph) but the image of Clint and Natasha had remained the same. Phil wouldn’t be able to explain why – there had certainly been several opportunities for him to get an updated replacement – but Fury had expressed the opinion that it was the first time Phil had been able to see that both Natasha and Clint were firmly on their feet, comfortable and confident in their own skins and ready to let the world see that.

Certainly no one would have suspected the hell that the pair had walked out of less than a year previous.

“We’ll take another one,” said Clint from behind Phil, where he had landed with a deliberate thud as he slid out the air-vent.

“Problem with my door?” Phil asked, setting the frame back in its place. Clint shook his head and dropped on to the sofa. That he immediately curled into a ball rather than sprawled across the furniture alerted Phil to at least part of the reason why Clint was there.

“Hill’s still hanging around,” he said. “Not keen on getting the third degree about being nearly seven thousand miles away from where she thought I was.”

“I’ll ask Fury to speak to her,” said Phil, turning his chair to fully face Clint. “You going to tell me or you relying on me being psychic again?”

“Did I do the right thing?” asked Clint. Phil cocked his head.

“When?” he asked.

“Nineteen years ago,” said Clint. “Did I do the right thing persuading you to let Dimitri Mostovoi live?”

“Yes,” said Phil, moving to kneel in front of Clint and resting his hand on the man’s forearm. “We knew he was in Red Room, we knew he was being mentored to be a handler but he was over a thousand miles away and _sixteen-years-old_ when you fired that kill shot. You completed the mission you were sent to do and no one, and I mean that Clint, _no one_ has the right to ask anymore of you.”

“Was meant to kill Tasha too,” said Clint.

“And instead you brought a valuable asset into SHIELD,” said Phil. “And, more importantly, gave hope to a young woman who was so close to the edge she’d forgotten what it was like to walk anywhere else.”

“And now she’s been pushed back there,” said Clint. “She wants revenge, Boss.”

“A sentiment I understand entirely,” said Phil, moving his hand to rest against Clint’s exposed hip. “I would sanction it as a SHIELD mission if I could.”

“Boss?”

“The reason I was so easy to persuade,” said Phil, not removing his hand. “Is that I was sitting in a rundown hotel room with your blood splashed up to my elbows and staining my clothes, desperately praying that the medevac would be able to break the laws of physics as I watched you fight blood loss and infection thanks to an improperly cared for serrated _Trident_ blade. At the time, I’m pretty sure you could have persuaded me the moon was made of green cheese or that Dracula was real.”

“Dracula was real, Boss,” said Clint with a small smile. “Just not as a blood-drinking demon. Would have tried harder with the moon and cheese argument though.”

“Don’t,” said Phil, his hand involuntarily flexing on Clint’s hip and his voice sounding a little husky even as his other hand moved to brush Clint’s hair from his eyes. “It was nineteen years ago and it still haunts me how easily I could have lost you. If I was able to sanction a revenge mission against Red Room, I would do it and I would _lead_ it.”

“No, Boss!” exclaimed Clint, looking terrified suddenly. Phil quietly waited for him to explain his fear.

“You’re supposed to be the shining example for SHIELD,” the archer said. “The one who does everything by the book and who will chuck the thing at us if we break protocol. You’re not supposed to be the one who gets compromised, ’specially not emotionally.”

“And I was,” said Phil with a small chuckle. “Then I met this brilliant young archer who refused to listen to the common sense God gave a _flea_ and decided that decades-old protocols were more like guidelines than actual rules. I became compromised the day I met you, Clint, and I have yet to regret the decision I made in that warehouse. Or any other I made afterwards, emotionally compromised or not. And, correct me if I’m wrong but, wasn’t it that same state of mind that saw you, Tasha and Ian all appear in Suriname back in ’03, despite each of you having orders to the contrary?”

“SHIELD was gonna let you die, Boss,” said Clint, his own hand going up to press against Phil’s right pectoral muscle that hid a multitude of broken rib scars. “Wasn’t ready to let that happen. Would do it again too.”

“And that is why I haven’t even _thought_ about persuading the Director that this is a bad mission for the Avengers to have,” said Phil. “You and Tasha are at your best when you have an actual person to protect rather than the generic ‘citizens of X city or country Y’. SHIELD could have given this to you and Tasha as an Agent-pair but with the Avengers involved, you have people at your back who will pull you away from the edge and back to safety.”

“Thought that was your job, Boss,” said Clint. Phil chuckled lightly.

“The day I could trump either Tony Stark or Bruce Banner in the possessive _or_ protective behaviour has long since passed,” he said. “If I can do it again, it’s a sign that your relationships are failing. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll skip the Alpha-pissing contests and just ask what I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Boss,” said Clint with a small smile.

“So?” prompted Phil, pulling back to settle on his heels.

“So, what?” Clint asked, looking slightly confused.

“What can I do to help?” repeated Phil. Clint gave Phil a weak smile.

“You’re already doing it, Boss,” he said before being caught by a yawn. “Mind if I crash in here for a couple hours?”

“Just keep the snoring to a minimum,” said Phil stretching up to snag the Afghan from the back of the sofa and settling it about Clint’s shoulders. Clint yawned again and tugged the blanket tighter around himself, quickly falling asleep. Phil kept his hand on Clint’s shoulder for another minute or so before pushing himself back to his feet and returning to his desk and the tablet that now contained all the information JARVIS and Skynet was able to find on the previous job sites of Dimitri Mostovoi.

“JARVIS?” he asked quietly. “Please advise Assistant Director Hill that it is in her best interests that she leave the Tower before someone forces the issue.”

“Of course, sir,” said JARVIS. “Should I inform the remaining Avengers as to Agent Barton’s whereabouts?”

“No,” said Phil. “Unless it’s Tony that asks, just tell them that he’s safe.”

“Very good, sir.”

* * *

“Agent,” said Tony as he waltzed into the man’s office four hours later to find Phil with his nose buried in his tablet, a notepad within reach, and Clint still crashed out on the sofa.

“Huh, so that’s where he disappeared to,” said Tony, his attention momentarily snared by his husband. Phil cleared his throat and set his tablet down, jerking Tony’s attention back to him.

“JARVIS could have told you where he was,” said Phil, noting that Tony had changed out of his business suit and was now dressed in faded jeans, AC/DC t-shirt and converse. The oil that was streaking his forearms and his temple seemed to indicate that he was multitasking in his labs again.

“Why are you here?”

“Why have you got us playing nice with the Feds?” asked Tony, dropping into the chair before Phil’s desk and offering out a bag of blueberries.

“We need their resources,” said Phil, accepting the proffered fruit. “You were right – SHIELD and the Avengers can only stretch so far and not everyone is capable of working under the radar.”

“I’m not disagreeing with their involvement,” said Tony. “I’m actually glad that this isn’t going to fall completely on the Avengers if this gets ugly. But why do we have to work with them personally? We’ve done the liaison thing before and managed to get things done right.”

“Speed,” said Phil. “If we have the Agents actually beside us, we’re not left hanging on the phone or waiting for a return email when swapping information. In turn that means we can solve this faster and get Mostovoi off the streets.”

“And we know these Agents are the right ones for the job?” asked Tony. “We’ve got federal contacts of our own. Ones that don’t give a damn about Bruce’s alter-ego or Clint’s less than stellar background and who _encourage_ Tasha’s habit of carrying knives in just about every conceivable place. Mission with these high stakes, why are we relying on people we only met a matter of hours ago?”

“Because to use _our_ contacts places more people at unnecessary risk,” said Phil.

“How’d you work that out?” asked Tony, not liking the implication.

“Ashley and Zach are already in danger because of the Avengers’ involvement in this mission,” said Phil. “We call in our own contacts then we are adding to the number of children brought into the firing line. Tasha is already stressed that she won’t be able to protect them and Clint is close to joining her. I will _not_ add to that burden any more than I have to.”

“We could do it anonymously,” Tony suggested. “Or have the NYPD put in the request.”

“Technically, the NYPD doesn’t have a case until either children in New York go missing or it is obvious that criminal activity is happening in their jurisdiction,” said Phil. “And I can almost guarantee that Aaron won’t sit back and merely provide a consult if this crosses his desk. Where he goes his team will follow and that puts five more kids in the same danger as Ashley and Zach. We contact California and we add another four.”

“They’re already in danger,” argued Tony. “Mostovoi has a main port in both states. One of them is actually _in_ LA!”

“But for the moment, none of them are in no more danger than what their parents’ jobs usually bring,” said Phil, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Tony, listen to me. Red Room does not solely train its members to be ruthless killers. If they did, Natasha Romanoff would never had existed and we certainly wouldn’t have been able to pull her out of Chechnya. They physically and psychologically torture their chosen victims, be they adult or child. Tasha was fifteen and sleeping rough in Novosibirsk when they found her and the mere thought of having to confront the _brother_ of the man responsible for her own torture is destroying what barriers she developed in an effort to survive. The children we would expose to the malice and evil that is Red Room and Dimitri Mostovoi by using our federal contacts have been protected from evil their entire lives. Not even Jack would survive if Mostovoi got hold of him.”

“So we have to trust in complete strangers?” asked Tony, a little louder than probably advisable as Clint jerked awake.

“No,” said Phil with a confirming shake of his head. “You trust _me_ , the same as you have for the last twelve years. As Clint has for the last twenty-one. Marks is here with Ian’s personal recommendation, something you _know_ he doesn’t give lightly.”

“And the other two?” asked Tony.

“Davis has been with the Innocent Images team almost since it started, the last decade of which he has spent in offices around Asia and the Middle-East,” said Phil. “A couple of the SHIELD commanders we have out there speak highly of his professionalism and ability. Rothman is the only one I have concerns about, mainly because she hasn’t been with the bureau for long, comparatively, and a majority of her time has been spent State-side.”

“That why you’re gonna be working with her?” asked Tony. Phil chuckled and nodded before glancing over to Clint who was laying watching them with bleary eyes. Phil tossed him his half-eaten pack of blueberries.

“Need to test her somehow,” he said. “To give her to Tasha and Clint on her first day is a little mean.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ the reason you introduced them to me and Pepper separately but only after you’d put in the ground work?” asked Tony. Clint snorted while Phil shook his head.

“No,” said the agent. “That was a selfish desire to keep what hair I had and to stall the development of grey hairs. Day Clint fell out his nest was a disaster as far as that plan was concerned.”

“Hence the standing order of hair dye,” said Tony with a grin, quickly ducking the pen lid that Phil threw in his direction. “Hey, I think the grey gives you a distinguished look.”

“So you’ll be adopting the look soon?” asked Phil, arching an eyebrow and pointedly fiddling with partnering pen to lid he’d just thrown.

“You seriously see me as being able to rock the Ivy League professor look?” asked Tony, returning the arched eyebrow. “Only got one reason I’d want to do that and I’m fairly sure you don’t want to hear it.”

“When you phrase it like that, probably not,” said Phil, noticing Tony’s glance towards Clint, who was looking thoughtful at Tony’s suggestion. “Now is there any other reason for you being here?”

“Just to tell you that Pepper is making dinner and she’s experimenting with that Creole sauce you taught her a few weeks ago,” said Tony. “She wants your opinion.”

“We’ll be there,” said Phil as Tony moved to crouch beside Clint. “Our new federal friends joining us?”

“No,” said Tony, his tone indicating that there would be no debate on the subject. “They’re staying in the guest quarters on 69th and have full access to either a fully stocked pantry and kitchen or the two-dozen nearest takeaways but they are paying out their own pocket and are restricted to the public areas of the Tower unless personally accompanied by an Avenger or yourself.”

“Why?” asked Clint, looking surprised by Tony’s decision.

“You and Agent have been trying to drill the idea of teamwork into me for the last decade,” said Tony, looking mildly dismayed by the idea. “Something had to stick eventually. That and I can keep a better eye on them if they’re here rather than in some hotel or SHIELD-approved apartment.”

“Now _that_ sounds like you,” said Phil with a chuckle. “Now scram. Some of us still have work to do.”

“Three hours,” Tony said, stealing a quick kiss from the still sleepy Clint before waltzing back out the office, clicking the door closed behind him.

“How much did you hear?” Phil asked, dropping his attention to Clint.

“Aaron,” said Clint.

“And you understand why I can’t place the calls?”

“Main priority is the kids, Boss,” said Clint, pushing himself to his feet and scrubbing at his hair. “Would work with just about anyone if it meant keeping them safe.”

“And Tasha?” asked Phil.

“Give her the kill shot and she’d work with anyone you name,” said Clint. “In the meantime, she’s got a lover, five brothers and one kick-ass sister watching her six.”

“I’ll makes sure our guests are made aware,” said Phil with a chuckle. Clint nodded sharply before disappearing from the office almost as quietly as he had arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

“OK, Widow, before you kill this guy, we’re giving him a lesson on how to reduce his carbon footprint,” said Steve as he threw a revolving globe up on to the holoprojector, suspending it above the conference table in the War Room on Level 91.

“Why?” asked Natasha while Agent Rothman protested the idea of Mostovoi ending up dead and Davis looked upset at the idea that Captain America was so carte blanche about the suggestion.

“Because, despite the Panama Canal and the Suez Canal both being operational for over a century, we _still_ have ships going down around the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn,” said Bruce, adding red, green, yellow and purple lines to the map.

“We’ll throw in some business lessons too,” said Tony, squinting at the globe.

“He has four properties, is able to support at _least_ two children, can afford multiple trips to the Dubai and four teams of domestic staff,” said Agent Davis. “All without sinking his company. I think he could give _you_ those business lessons, Mr Stark.”

“Yet, you will notice that _StarkIndustries_ is the one floating on the NYSE, TSX, LSE, TSE, HSEx and the JSE,” said Tony. “Mostovoi’s company – _Cyber Snare_ – doesn’t even show up on the TSX Venture Exchange.”

“Tony,” Phil chided gently.

“Going around Africa or South America doubles the journey time,” said Tony. “Also increases the risk of losing shipments and personnel. Was the reason Christopher Columbus discovered the Americas and why the crew of the _HMS Bounty_ decided to mutiny. It is also the reason why a majority of shipping trade is now done via Suez or Panama or involves transcontinental travel.”

“It’s a test,” said Clint, studying the various lines and looking decidedly ill at his conclusion.

“A test?” repeated Davis.

“SHIELD suspects that Mostovoi is experimenting on the children that are going missing from the Middle East,” said Bruce. “Part of the reason that participants in medical research are put through an inquisition before they’re allowed to take part in any clinical trial is because they need to be of a certain standard of health. A weak or unhealthy participant is not going to give you the success story you need it too and could end up backfiring should something go wrong.”

“The kids are proving their strength by surviving the journey around the Horn,” finished Clint, who was an unhealthy pale beneath his tan. He looked at Natasha.

“You gotta leave me something to play with before you gut this bastard,” he said. Natasha nodded slowly.

“You shall have honour of first screams,” she said.

“Agent Coulson!” demanded Rothman, even as Davis exchanged an uncomfortable look with Agent Marks. “Is talk of this level of violence strictly necessary?”

“They’re assassins, Agent Rothman,” said Phil. “The best ones SHIELD currently has on its roster – violence and death is what they do.”

“As evil as Dimitri Mostovoi _is_ , we cannot use anything gained under torture in a court of law,” said Rothman.

“Who said anything about courts of law?” asked Tony, glancing around at his fellow Avengers.

“The International Criminal Court can’t do anything unless the UN refers this case to them,” expanded Steve. “Russia denies all knowledge of Red Room, Mostovoi is officially a Canadian citizen so the US courts won’t prosecute _but_ he appears to be committing his crimes on US soil so the Canadians won’t prosecute. The countries these kids are being reported kidnapped from can’t prosecute _anyone_ , especially a white westerner, without some human rights group jumping up and down to create a fuss.”

“So, basically,” said Tony. “We leave this to the official channels and Mostovoi walks free because no one is willing to get their hands dirty. Excuse me if I prefer Widow and Hawk’s idea.”

“Should we be concerned about the well-being of your heirs?” asked Rothman. Clint jerked hard enough to smash his knee against the underside of the conference table and Steve drew his back straight so suddenly it was like someone had pulled directly on his spinal cord. Phil levelled a dangerous look at the Agent, holding a hand up to Tony, Natasha and Bruce to stall their retaliatory rebukes.

“The well-being of Ashley and Zach Hogan is neither the subject of this meeting nor a matter for your concern, Agent Rothman,” he said. “However, if the subject is going to be one of such apprehension, I’m sure Mr and Mrs Hogan will be more than happy to meet with you to explain their choice of godparents for their children. Regarding the more pressing matter of Dimitri Mostovoi: Widow, Hawk I ask that you shelve on your plans, at least temporarily. Once we have the children in safe custody, we will return to the subject.”

“Kak tol'ko deti nakhodyatsya v bezopasnosti,” said Natasha, a little disgruntled about having to wait but understanding why Phil was asking for the delay. Besides, the delay would allow her time to fine tune what plans she and Clint could draw up together.

“I’m gonna need targets,” said Clint. Phil nodded in understanding.

“I’ll design something with JARVIS,” he said. “You’ll have them by the morning. Now, Captain, is there anything else jumping out from the files?”

“According to their passports and visas, Mostovoi or an associate have only visited Dubai, The Maldives or Bahrain,” said Steve. “However, cell phone records seem to indicate that there was multiple communications with people in India, Pakistan and Iran. There is also evidence that either Mostovoi or an associate hired a private airplane which made a stop on the Iranian side of the Iran-Pakistan-Afghanistan border. Since there isn’t an actual airport at the location, it’s a little difficult to find out who landed, why they landed and how long they were there.”

“So what evidence is there that there was a flight?” asked Rothman.

“Pilot filed a flight plan with multiple bodies _including_ _Cyber Snare_ and the Iranian Air Force,” replied Steve. “The plane was entering a warzone, I guess the pilot was covering his back and making sure he was going to get paid.”

“And no one thought to double check the coordinates?” asked Davis. Steve shrugged.

“If they did, it didn’t stop the flight,” he said.

“And the _reason_ for the detour?” queried Rothman. Marks snorted.

“You think the super-soldier formula gave him psychic powers?” he asked, throwing Rothman a cool look that had Phil biting back a laugh.

“All the man can do is present you with the findings of his investigation,” continued Marks. “Supposition doesn’t work in a court of law. Nor does it help in this case because it runs every risk of throwing us on to the wrong track. Captain, the detour a one off?”

“No,” said Steve. “Financial records from _Cyber Snare_ show two similar expenditures though the actual flight plans aren’t as simple to locate on their servers.”

“Before or after the one you’ve just outlined?” asked Marks.

“Before,” said Steve. “Financial records would suggest three and five months prior.”

“All from the same starting location?”

“Can’t tell you that from the financial records,” said Steve. “Amounts are similar but given the fluctuating price of fuel, that might not mean much.”

“No,” agreed Phil. “But it gives us a starting point. Agent Marks, Dr Banner, having you anything to add?”

“I hate this guy?” said Bruce. Tony snorted while Clint and Natasha both managed a small chuckle, neither of which sounded particularly mirthful.

“Each report from SHIELD matches up, almost seamlessly, to a legitimate business call,” said Marks as Bruce threw a series of red beacons on to the globe, two dates attached to each one.

“Pattern seems to be that Mostovoi will land in one of the countries the Captain mentioned earlier,” continued Marks. “Between three and five days later, SHIELD reports children disappearing. A couple days later, Mostovoi returns to Canada.”

“He’s done the same thing seven times in the last twelve months,” said Bruce. “If he’s working like this is a clinical trial, we’re talking at least ten kids each time.”

“Seventy kids?” Clint said weakly while Natasha growled low in her throat. Bruce immediately turned his attention to his lover, pulling her forward until their foreheads met, his hands cupping her cheeks to keep her still as he started murmuring to her, his voice pitched at just the right volume that his words were indistinct to everyone except Natasha. Tony had foregone the whole idea of trying to calm and reassure Clint and was instead attempting to prevent his husband from passing out.

“Why?” he demanded of Phil. “Why did SHIELD wait so long to hand this over?”

“A question I will be asking myself when I meet with him later,” assured Phil. “For now, I suggest a fifteen minute recess.”

Neither Tony nor Bruce wasted any time in removing their respective partners from the War Room.

* * *

“Coulson, what aren’t you telling me?” asked Marks when Rothman and Davis had followed Steve in the direction of the bathrooms and coffee maker. Phil raised an eyebrow at the Fugitive Recovery Agent. Marks shook his head.

“Last thing Edgerton said to me was that you and the Avengers play with the cards close to your chests,” he said. “And that if I wanted all the answers I should ask direct. So, why aren’t you telling me?”

“Still going to need specifics,” said Phil.

“Grozny,” said Marks. “The mission report’s dated nearly twenty years ago. What happened that it’s still freaking you and your assets out so badly?”

“They know exactly what is awaiting any child that survives the journey to the States,” said Phil. “Widow was subjected to the violence and torture for twenty years while Hawkeye was victim for three weeks.”

“And it still affects him now?” asked Marks. “Widow I can understand but Hawkeye?”

“Red Room finds your weakness and exploits it,” said Phil. “Hawkeye had reputation, even twenty years ago, and Red Room knew exactly who they’d trapped. The first four days, they beat him with fists, gun-butts, belts and chains. After they’d literally turned him black, blue and mustard-green, they proceeded to torture a seven-year-old child to death in front of him. They stuck tape over his mouth so he couldn’t scream or offer comfort. They super-glued his eyes open and fastened his head to a board so that he couldn’t look away. For eleven days he heard nothing but the screams, tears and eventual death rattle of a child he was _completely_ unable to help. For the next five he was chained beside the decomposing body, unable to do anything but apologise.”

“None of that was in the mission report,” said Marks.

“You write everything in your reports, Paul?” asked Phil. Marks hesitated before shaking his head.

“Exactly,” said Phil. “Clint was twenty-five years old and just been forced to watch one of the most horrific scenes of his life. Yet despite that, and an infected abdominal wound, he managed to complete his mission _and_ obtain a valuable asset for SHIELD. He agreed to get help and in return I gave SHIELD a carefully worded report.”

“Widow went through that for twenty years?” asked Marks. Phil shook his head.

“Red Room had her branded an enemy of the State and therefore kept isolated from everyone except her handler and anyone he chose,” he said. “Usually meant violent, sadistic characters, most often men. For more than half her life by that point, the only people she had to rely on for even the basics of survival experimented on her and physically tortured and emotionally traumatised her. Even now she refuses to explain the full details.”

“Jesus,” breathed Marks, looking ill. “OK, I take it this is to stay quiet from the others?”

“Rothman and Davis, definitely,” said Phil. “Tony knows about Clint, I’m not sure how much Bruce knows about Tasha. If Steve knows anything about either history, he hasn’t told me.”

“So basically let them raise the subject,” surmised Marks. Phil nodded. Marks blew out a slow breath and rolled his shoulders once.

“You understand you’re gonna need to find yourself a new best friend when we’re done here, yes?” he said.

“I’ll warn Ian,” Phil said with a small, shaky smile before turning his attention to Mostovoi’s dossier on his tablet. Marks canted his head.

“What did you bring back from Grozny, Phil?” he asked. Phil looked up, defiance written across his face.

“Pain,” he said. “Pain, anger and two people for whom I would do anything, and everything.”

“Gotcha,” said Marks, turning back to his own tablet just as Steve, Rothman and Davis reappeared.

“Hawkeye and Widow are excused from the rest of this briefing,” said Steve, sending an almost violent look in Rothman’s direction. “And I am not about to pry away their partners.”

“JARVIS, make a copy of this rooms camera feed,” instructed Phil. “Make it available on Tony and Bruce’s tablets.”

* * *

The original design of Stark Tower included a grand total of four apartments –three for visiting business people Tony felt magnanimous enough to entertain himself and the Penthouse. Those designs had also seen the building round off at 80 floors. However, Tony, being Tony, had gotten a little carried away with the building work and by the time Pepper and JARVIS had talked him down (the former with concerns that the experimental arc-reactor design may not power the whole building while the latter starting questioning the building’s structural integrity) Stark Tower had reached a total of 92 floors plus the Penthouse.

The additional floors were eventually put to use. The three guest apartments – plus three other levels – were used to house a rotating crew of workmen and women who were helping to drag Manhattan back to its feet following the Chitauri attack. Clint and Bruce had both accepted his offer to stay at the Tower without question, sharing an apartment to begin with but later moving into their own when the workers moved on to other projects. After some negotiating on Clint’s part, Natasha joined them a fortnight later, Steve following after about a week. Thor was assigned a floor as well, for the periods when he was on Earth and not camped out in New Mexico with Jane and, once he had been released from the clutches of SHIELD medical, Phil was given the job of kicking Thom and Kit out the apartment that was to eventually become his own. As each of his teammates moved in, Tony has redesigned each floor to accommodate the occupant’s personal foibles and desires. Pepper, delighted to see Tony working on something that wasn’t the Iron Man armour, had willingly provided pointers and organised the interior design teams that would ensure that Tony’s plans actually came to fruition.

They were the reason Phil has a clear line of sight from which ever doorway he stood in. They were the reason Bruce has a room dedicated solely to mediation and Tai Chi while the actual walls and doors were reinforced with the glass SHIELD had used for the capsule on the Helicarrier. They were the reason Steve has the stabilising comfort of quiet 1940s décor and Thor the sprawling open-plan layout of Asgardian chambers.

They were the reason Clint has a nest on the highest point of the Tower and Natasha has a panic room square in the middle of her apartment, both of which incorporated the same security features Tony used on his personal lab, were harder to physically compromise than Fort Knox and were kept stocked as if for a siege.

When they had been removed from the War Room on Level 91, Clint had grabbed for Natasha’s hand as soon as they were in the elevator, tapping out in Morse code against the back of her hand where they would run. Natasha hadn’t responded with words or returned code. She had just looked at Clint with her eyes so full of pain that even Tony knew to direct the elevator to the Russian’s apartment. Archer and engineer had stood back as Bruce all but carried his lover into her sanctuary and were getting ready to leave for their own solace when Natasha had held out an upturned hand to Clint, silently begging him to join her. Clint had responded without question, leaving Tony’s side to grab the upturned hand and pulling Natasha into a tight embrace that saw them collapse to the floor in a mess of limbs and skyrocketing emotions. Bruce and Tony had slid down the wall, grabbing for their own purchase on their friend, and watched helplessly as their partners fell apart before them.

That had been three hours ago and while Clint had managed to pull himself together enough to settle in Tony’s arms and watch the recording of the remaining briefing session, Natasha was still a wreck. Making sure that both the door and Clint stayed within her line of sight, she and Bruce had retreated to the mattress that constituted the panic room’s bed lay curled tight together under the blankets. Tony hadn’t moved from his original spot and now sat with Clint cradled in his arms, both of them listening as Bruce quietly narrated Rudyard Kipling’s _How the Leopard Got its Spots_ , gently running his fingers through Natasha’s hair that was slowly losing its fiery-shine.

“ _'Now you are a beauty!' said the Ethiopian,_ ” said Bruce, pressing a kiss to Natasha’s temple.“ _'You can lie out on the bare ground and look like a heap of pebbles. You can lie out on the naked rocks and look like a piece of pudding-stone. You can lie out on a leafy branch and look like sunshine sifting through the leaves; and you can lie right across the centre of a path and look like nothing in particular. Think of that and purr!'_ ”

“Almost sounds like that was written specifically for you two,” said Tony, quietly enough that Clint heard him but that it did not disturb Bruce’s storytelling. Clint shook his head against Tony’s shoulder, not turning his attention away from the mattress.

“ _The Elephant’s Child_ suits me better,” he said. “Tasha is our regal leopard. Beautiful, strong, graceful, fierce.”

“You saw that even then, didn’t you?” said Tony, shifting so that he could look at Clint’s face. “In Chechnya.”

“I saw it the day SHIELD handed me the mission file,” Clint corrected. “I’d decided before we’d even left the briefing room that I’d do everything I could to bring that beautiful creature home _alive_ rather than as a trophy skin for the WSC to spear to their wall.”

“And I will never be able to thank you enough for that,” said Bruce, his tale finished and Natasha at least giving the appearance of falling asleep in his arms. Clint smiled weakly at the physicist.

“You love her,” he said. “She is as unique as the leopard’s spots. A diamond as rough and as sharp as the rock it is hewn from yet a jewel far beyond compare. You recognised that and I can think of no better a man to stand at her side and help her weather the storm we are about to face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translation **
> 
> _Kak tol'ko deti nakhodyatsya v bezopasnosti_ \- once the children are safe
> 
> ** Just So Story **
> 
> _How the Leopard Got its Spots_ by Rudyard Kipling.
> 
> Available from: http://www.boop.org/jan/justso/leopard.htm


	6. Chapter 6

The quad remained together for another four hours, Clint refusing to leave Natasha’s side until she felt safe enough to leave her panic room. Bruce had lain at her side the entire time, shifting only to ensure that neither of them were going to get up with uncomfortable cramps or deadened limbs and talking only when it seemed Natasha was becoming too distraught to cope with a silence that implied she was alone. Tony had fallen into a doze against the wall, prolonged periods of inactivity always having that effect on him (he claimed it was boredom, everyone else determined that it was his body taking the opportunity to catch up on the sleep he denied it when he was caught up in a project) while Clint had sat in his embrace and only briefly broke his gaze away from his partner.

“Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS said gently, interrupting the quiet of the room. “Agent Barton. Miss Ashely is requesting your presence in the communal lounge.”

“Why?” asked Clint.

“She has asked me not to expand upon the full details,” said JARVIS. “Only that it is a surprise.”

“But……” prompted Clint.

“But in light of the current circumstances, I feel obligated to tell you,” said JARVIS. “Officer Campbell and Dr Coulson have arrived from Providence.”

“Niko?” said Clint.

“Has also arrived with them,” confirmed JARVIS. “Mr and Mrs Jefferson have retreated to the guest apartment on Level 70 while Niko is with Dr Coulson in the lounge.”

Clint looked at Natasha, canting his head in silent question. Natasha nodded sharply, once, and both she and Bruce untangled themselves from the mattress while Clint prodded Tony in the ribs.

“I take it we’re to act surprised?” commented Bruce, holding out a hand to haul Tony to his feet.

“It would be appreciated, Doctor,” said JARVIS. Tony chuckled causing Natasha and Clint to look at him curiously.

“Ashley doesn’t _threaten_ to reprogram him,” he said. “She just picks a circuit and starts playing.”

“And this is why Pepper restricts her time in the labs,” said Clint as Natasha released the locks on the panic-room door. “ _And_ makes it a condition that the two of you aren’t left alone together.”

“So instead gives her godfather who teaches her to be acrobatic monkey,” said Natasha. Clint chuckled.

“Not teaching her to be anything,” he said. “She’s been exposed to that kind of thing since the day she could focus on the TV screen. I’m just making sure she knows how to pull her tricks off safely.”

“Pepper is dreading the day Zach is old enough to copy,” said Bruce with a small chuckle of his own. Clint grinned.

“’s why I didn’t get him as a godson,” he said, watching as Natasha pressed her back to the elevator wall. “Not quite sure how to tell her that Steve is just as bad.”

“Difference between you and Steve is that _he_ does not pull stunts around house,” said Natasha, folding her arms. “Battlefield stunts are forgivable.”

“Oh really?” asked Clint with a mischievous grin. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him while Bruce and Tony watched the by-play like they would a tennis match.

“Have been in air-vents,” Natasha said. “Are too small to accommodate the Captain comfortably.”

“Air-vents are not the only way to get through the Tower without the elevators,” said Clint. “Steve isn’t a huge fan of _walking_ down the stairs. And running gets a little tedious after the first couple dozen floors or so.”

“You and Cap have got to be the _only_ people who _willingly_ use the stairs rather than the elevators,” said Tony as the elevator doors opened.

“Got to keep in shape somehow,” said Clint.

“And he gets a perverse amount of pleasure from springing out unexpectedly on your staff,” said Pepper as she approached the quad, Ashely bouncing along beside her. She launched herself into Clint’s arms while Pepper carefully slid Zach into Natasha’s arms, Bruce quickly moving to bracket her right arm with his own.

“Blame Phil,” grinned Clint, dotting a kiss to Ashley’s forehead before looking between Pepper and Phil, who was currently helping Steve and Niko set up a special-edition Aggravation game board. “He made absolutely no attempt to stop me at HQ then actually _ordered_ me to learn the vents on the Helicarrier.”

“Learn the layout of the vents, yes,” Phil said, looking up from the board game. “Use them instead of the corridors, no.”

“Pfft, it keeps everyone on their toes,” said Clint, total unabashed about his behaviour. “Now, Strawb’ry, JARVIS says you have a surprise for me and Auntie Tasha?”

“Dr Thom’s here,” grinned Ashley, pointing back to where Thom and Niko were each holding out a fist to Phil, presumably with a game piece hidden beneath their fingers for him to choose.

“I can see that, honey,” grinned Clint. “Think he got lost on the way home again?”

“That happened _once_ and I was sixteen years old!” retorted Thom, startling Niko’s attention to the new comers. He lit up in delight and scrambled to his feet to dart towards Bruce who knelt to return the hug properly. Clint’s grin lessened to a smile as Niko shyly greeted Natasha and Tony from the safety of Bruce’s arms.

“Kit here too?” he asked. Ashley giggled and nodded. Clint considered her for a moment.

“He’s six feet on my eight o’clock,” he said, his pronouncement being met by the solid fall of a boot and a grumble of complaint.

“I’m never gonna beat you, am I?” griped Kit. Clint set Ashley back on the floor before swinging round to face the younger sniper.

“The day you can do that,” he said. “Is the day I hand you my spot on the Avengers.”

“And to think the last time, it only took a leaked photograph in the _New York Post_ ,” said Kit, closing the distance between them to wrap Clint into a tight embrace. Pepper slapped Kit’s shoulder while Ashley giggled again.

“Please do not swear around my children,” Pepper said before chivvying said children and their Avenger playmates into the centre of the room.

“Do I want to know what happened?” asked Kit, glancing between Pepper and Clint. Clint chuckled even as he scratched the back of his head.

“Had bit of a run-in with a journalist from the _Post_ about four months ago,” he said. “Can’t even remember what we were doing but a photographer caught a snap of me, Pep and the kids. Picture has me carrying Zach in a ruana sling and helping Pep swing Ashley between us.”

“Sounds cute,” said Kit, smiling as Bruce settled himself and Niko against the sofa, accepting the green game counter than the boy was holding out to him. Clint chuckled.

“Yeah,” he said. “Photographer was freelance and was delighted to sell a copy to Happy. With his permission, they put a copy up for bid to the press as well and _Post_ snapped it up. The journalist who wrote the attached story ran with the story that we appeared to be playing happy families.”

“Sounds like you were,” said Kit.

“Uh-huh,” said Clint. “And none of us were going to deny that had _we_ been asked. Journalist bypassed us completely though and made a beeline for Ashley next time Happy took the kids out to the adventure play park.”

“Do we call her brave or stupid?” asked Kit, his eyes widening.

“Reckless was the phrase used in her termination papers,” said Clint. “Tony threatened both her and the _Post_ with legal action – suing for both libel and child endangerment. _Post_ settled out of court and sacked the journalist who, according to Jennifer, is still finding ways to drag it into conversation purely so she can bitch. Since then, you mention the _New York Post_ within either Pepper’s or Tony’s hearing distance and you take your life in your own hands, the result often being determined by the potential witnesses.”

“So stick with the kids and I’ll get away with light slaps?” said Kit. Clint chuckled.

“Something like that,” he said, looking back to the group to find Niko and Ashley doing their best to persuade Tony to take a scarlet counter. “Tony, you were the one who decided to paint your armour red, stop complaining. Strawb’ry, you make sure he doesn’t cheat while Mommy takes my counters – Niko’s gonna help Uncle Bruce this time, OK?”

“And you’re disappearing where?” asked Tony as Ashley dropped herself in his lap without much of a by-your-leave.

“Some conversations are not meant for little ears,” said Clint, nodding to Niko who was carefully ensconced against Bruce’s chest, looking quietly pleased with himself now that all the pieces had been divided up correctly.

“Bruce still isn’t used to being someone’s hero is he?” said Kit as the pair stepped back into the elevator, Clint hitting the button for the 70th floor.

“Don’t think he’s ever gonna get used to the idea,” said Clint. “Now, why do I have this horrible feeling that you and Thom aren’t here for a social visit?”

* * *

At the start of their romantic relationship, it had taken Tony three months to convince Clint to move into the Penthouse apartment with him. It had taken a further _six_ before the engineer was able to fully persuade him to give up the apartment on Level 81. For all intents and purposes, Clint _did_ give up the apartment – he no longer lived there and the remaining Avengers were more than willing to give over use of the communal kitchen to the archer should the mood strike him to cook or bake, such an arrangement often ending up to be profitable one. However, Clint managed to persuade Tony to once more redesign the floor, this time so it could be used as a palliative and end-of-life care unit for children from poorer backgrounds.

The moment he heard about the plans, Steve had insisted that he be allowed to work on the redesigning (both at a blue-print level and the physical labour portion) while Thor, who technically lived in the apartment above Clint, had relinquished claim to half his floor so that the rotating teams of paediatricians and paediatric nurses (all selected by the combined efforts of JARVIS, Clint, Bruce, Thom and Dr Siobhan Manning, chief medical officer for _StarkIndustries_ operations in New York) had somewhere to sleep should it be their turn on-call. The guest-apartments on Levels 69 and 70 were given priority usage to the parents of any children in the unit, Phil, Natasha and Bruce putting their extensive international travel to use to ensure that the main kitchen on each floor was kept fully-stocked with non-perishable items to suit a multitude of diets, perishable items being brought in as required, and each apartment had a smaller kitchenette available for those parents who needed a little more solitude.

Clint had been startled by his teammates’ response, his genuine, all-encompassing and unmitigated love for children still something that none of them fully understood, and he found himself fighting back tears when, on their wedding day, Tony had presented him with the title deeds to _Angel Dreams_ , a charity that Tony and Pepper had set up on the archer’s behalf and designed to help with the running costs of the care unit, an impressive number of influential figures already on the donor list, including Dr Stephen Strange, Janet Van Dyne, Warren Worthington III and Tony himself. Four years and the generous donations of its named benefactors and the people of New York had seen the charity able to expand its remit to allow for a wide range of magical once-in-a-lifetime adventures.

Ten-year-old Niko Jefferson was one of the latest recipients of the charity’s work. A leukaemia patient since he was eight, Niko had been referred to the unit shortly after his ninth birthday. He had taken an instant shine to Thom, who had been visiting the unit in a professional capacity, and had been struck temporarily mute when they bumped into Bruce (literally, the man having been engrossed in a biophysics periodical when he wandered into the elevator) on their way out the Tower. Niko’s muteness hadn’t lasted long and he started to bombard the man with questions, stories and wild theories. A furiously blushing Mrs Jefferson had tried to shush her son while an equally embarrassed Mr Jefferson had explained to Bruce, Thom and Clint that The Hulk was Niko’s favourite Avenger. Bruce had blinked, somewhat stupefied by the revelation, while Clint had crouched to Niko’s level and admitted that The Hulk was _his_ favourite Avenger too. Niko had been confused by the confession, after all Clint was also an Avenger – why did he need a hero? Clint responded by pulling out the chain that held his wedding band from beneath his shirt and explaining that when The Hulk had saved Iron Man after he’d fallen back through the Chitauri portal, he had saved the man who would become his husband. Niko had turned wide-eyed to Bruce (who was sharing his expression) and, before anyone could stop him, wrapped his arms around Bruce’s waist.

In the four years that they’d shared the Tower with the care unit, the Avengers had become used to the being on-the-spot heroes for the children but that was usually as far as things went. With Niko, however, the chance meeting in the elevator had sparked a beautiful and touching friendship that would leave its mark on both the child and the Avengers. Bruce was very obviously the boy’s favourite – a position that no one was going to compete for, it doing Bruce good to have someone accept The Hulk so completely – but that affection soon found its way to include his teammates, Natasha in particular when he worked out that she was Bruce’s special someone.

Currently the only child in the unit, Niko had begged his parents that he allowed to sleep with Bruce that night. Mr and Mrs Jefferson had agreed, on the condition that Niko actually _sleep_ and the pair were now to be found laying among the multitude of beanbags that made up the soft-play area of the unit, a woollen blanket tucked around Niko who was sprawled happily against Bruce’s chest. The physicist had fallen into a light sleep, more than happy to be used as a mix of teddy-bear and mattress while Natasha had perched herself on the end of the nearest bed, her body positioned so as to allow for immediate flight or fight.

Niko murmured something in his sleep and shifted closer to Bruce, the beanbag beneath him crunching slightly. Bruce opened his eyes briefly at the movement before quickly dropping back to sleep when he found nothing amiss. Natasha shifted, torn between staying with her lover and his charge and bolting for the nursery where she knew Ashley and Zach would now be sleeping. She startled when a blanket was draped around her shoulders and Thom settled himself beside her, carefully wrapping one of her hands around a fresh cup of tea.

“Kit’s watching them tonight,” he said, pulling a small roll out his pocket, the material similar to the stuff Tony used for his holographic blueprints.

“Tony told me to give you this,” he said, spreading it out before the Russian and tapping the spinning ‘play’ button. “Live security feed.”

“Why?” asked Natasha, watching as Kit carefully unhooked the headphones from around Ashley’s head and set both them and the attached _Hello Kitty_ CD Player of her bedside table.

“I’m on nightshift for Niko,” said Tony, nodding towards their sleeping companions. “Kit agreed to pull the same for Ashley and Zach so _you_ can get some sleep.”

“Is not so easy,” said Natasha, her gaze darting between the security feed and her lover. Thom canted his head.

“You really are scared,” he said. Natasha shot his a deadly look that would have had lesser men back off.

“Dad told me you were fighting ghosts,” said Thom. “That it’s freaking all _three_ of you out, I’m gonna guess something from around the time you left Russia.”

“Is better if you do not know,” said Natasha. Thom shook his head.

“Dad told me things at the time,” he said. “Other stuff I got from Clint and the rest I got from the medical files that I was given access to when I joined SHIELD. It scared me just reading the stuff, I can’t imagine what it was like to actually live through it. The way the three of you are acting now, it’s like you’ve all been told everyone’s going to be dragged back into it soon as you blink.”

“Became to comfortable,” said Natasha. “Was not supposed to have friends, was not supposed to have emotions, was not supposed to have family. Such ties are dangerous and get in way.”

“For someone who gave me a lecture about how important family is the first time you saw me and Dad having an argument, you’re gonna have to work on convincing me on that one,” said Thom. “As for the other two – you’re human. To be unemotional and alone is not a natural state.”

The smile Natasha was able to conjure up at his words was small and filled with pain.

“What friends I have I also call teammates,” she said. “Is difficult to know where line is. Emotions are difficult and am more likely to express anger and violence than joy and peace. And while I am glad to have Bruce in my life, I cannot give him what he truly desires.”

“And I’m calling foul on all of what you just said,” said Thom, firmly. “If they were just teammates, you wouldn’t socialise with them the way you do and you’d be a hell of a lot less forgiving for mistakes in the field. You _certainly_ wouldn’t have made friends with Pepper, Happy or me. OK, so you find it easier to act out anger and aggression than your so-called softer emotions but you’re an experienced soldier, it’s a natural reaction to what you’ve been asked, ordered or forced to do and see. After forty years, of course it’s gonna be difficult to find them but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. OK, so Tony, Steve and Thor either have be on death’s doorstep or have done something truly impressive to get an obvious response from you but you’re used to them being fellow soldiers. Dad, Clint and Bruce though? You’ve got this special little smile for each of them and all they have to do to get it is wake up in the morning.”

“You’re delusional,” said Natasha.

“Yes, but not in this,” said Thom. “And I have the witnesses to back me up. When Loki and the Chitauri attacked, you weren’t concerned about the people of New York or SHIELD – you were concerned for Clint and there was _nothing_ that was gonna stop you at least attempting to get him back. When we found out that Dad was almost fatally injured after Loki stabbed him in the back, you split your time between making sure that me, Kit and Clint didn’t go off the deep end and sitting at his bedside, ignoring the machines and the fact he was unconscious to keep him up to date with SHIELD goings on for no other reason than he’d once told you he found it comforting. And Bruce? Nat, you light every time he enters the room. So you can’t say the words ‘I love you’ but that doesn’t matter – you show him in every action, in every word you tell him.”

“Except I cannot give one gift that would make his world complete,” said Natasha, her gaze falling to Niko even as one arm wrapped subconsciously around her abdomen. Thom noticed both actions and, risking that Natasha would respond violently, removed the half-full tea-cup and wrapped his arms around her to pull her down against his chest.

“There are other ways to have children, Nat,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her head before resting his chin on the same spot. It was then he noticed that Bruce was actually awake and he nodded once to the unspoken question he could see in the other man’s eyes.

“Moya prekrasnaya zhar-ptitsa,” Bruce said quietly. “You’ve already given me the greatest gift I could ask for. To raise a child with you, whether they carry our blood or not, is an honour beyond my imagination.”

“Nurture your dream, Nat,” said Thom, pressing another kiss to Natasha’s head and nudging her into Bruce’s embrace, the physicist shifting Niko slightly so the trio could curl comfortably together, the beanbags beneath them crunching with the movement.

“There’s no one around here that’s gonna tell you it’s foolish.”

 

Less than 200 miles away, seventeen-year-old Samira an-Nahr gave a last, painful breath while her new born son screamed out his anger at the cold world into which he had just arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translation **
> 
> _Moya prekrasnaya zhar-ptitsa_ – My beautiful fire-bird


	7. Chapter 7

One look at Phil when they reconvened in the War Room on Tuesday evening told Marks all he needed to know about the Innocent Images Agent who was currently bitching at her partner. Calmly making two cups of tea and pressing one into Phil and Tony’s hands to make sure both Agent and engineer kept them otherwise occupied, Marks deliberately dropped his messenger bag on to the table in front of Rothman and Davis with as much force and noise as was possible. Rothman turned to glare at him but Marks only straightened up and followed his arms, the expression on his face far from friendly.

“You can be replaced,” he said. Rothman scoffed.

“I doubt it,” she said. “I’ve been involved with this case from the start and am here at the personal invitation of SHIELD’s Assistant Director.”

“Don’t play the one-upmanship game with me Rothman,” said Marks. “You’ll lose. If you cannot work with the team you have been assigned, you can, and _will_ , be replaced.”

“I am the senior on this case,” exclaimed Rothman.

“That does not make you irreplaceable,” said Marks. “Do you have a _genuine_ concern about this investigation or are you just upset that Captain America isn’t agreeing with your every word?”

“Where would you like me to start?” asked Rothman and Tony’s face broke into a grin that Phil had long since learned meant he was going to give you as much rope as you wanted before using it to hang you.

“Someone once told me the beginning was a good place,” the engineer said. “Why don’t you start there?”

“Every single one of you is too invested in this case to be of any use,” started Rothman. “Barton and Romanova have a personal history with the suspect that will compromise any evidence they find. Both yourself and Dr Banner are compromised by your emotional relationships with the aforementioned Agents. As is Director Coulson. Captain Rogers is the only member of the Avengers who would be of any use to the credibility of this investigation but rather than using it, he is encouraging the plans of revenge and becoming too invested himself. If any of you genuinely want Mostovoi caught and put away then you would recuse yourselves and let us carry out our investigations legally.”

“At least you didn’t mention the kids,” said Tony. Rothman glared at him and Tony snorted in amusement.

“Remind me to introduce you to Mrs Hogan,” he said. “She’ll be able to give you lessons on making that work.”

“ _Anyone_ you bring in is going to be compromised for no other reason than we are talking about _child victims_!” said Marks. “Or are you that heartless that that bit doesn’t actually register with you?”

“Paul, don’t,” sighed Phil, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. Marks shot him a look but Phil shook his head and motioned for the Fugitive Recovery Agent to take a seat. He acquiesced but sat slouched back, his arms folded across his chest and continuing to direct a glare at the Innocent Images Agent.

“The fact Agents Barton, Romanoff and Coulson all have an intimate history with our target means we go in better prepared and we get more of these kids out alive,” said Steve, looking politely annoyed that his support to his teammates was being called into question. “So yes, I will support any and all their actions until the moment they step out of bounds.”

“And exactly where are those boundaries, Captain?” asked Davis, not meaning to antagonise the situation but needing to know where the goalposts were set.

“If it becomes obvious that any team member will be hurt as the result of another’s actions,” said Steve. “And by team member, I am including everyone in this room, the Hogan family, the absent Avengers, Jennifer O’Connor and anyone residing in the _Angel Dreams_ unit.”

“Very specific list,” said Davis.

“I can make things even more specific,” said Tony even as Steve sent the Agent a scathing look. “Ashley or the kids in the medical unit get hurt, you answer to Clint. Zach gets hurt, you answer to Steve. Pep or Happy get hurt and you answer to me and Natasha. Any of _us_ get hurt and you answer to Phil and anyone else left standing. Phil or Jennifer gets hurt and you answer to the Avengers. This is, of course, excluding the numerous personal contacts we each have from our day jobs.”

“That sounds threatening, Mr Stark,” said Rothman. Tony looked at her.

“It was meant to,” he said. “We are not in this for the PR or to play nice with the alphabet soup – if we were, we’d do it with Agents we actually know and insist that our press-liaison was at every briefing. We are here for the simple reason that innocent children are being stolen from their homes and their families with every indication of becoming lab-rats for Mostovoi and his associates. The _only_ thing we are interested in is rescuing those children and apprehending the people responsible for their suffering. _You_ are here because I haven’t come up with a good enough reason to get you reassigned and SHIELD is convinced you’ve got something useful to add to this investigation.”

“Tony,” Phil warned gently. Tony glared at him but managed to get a hold of his tongue. He slouched back in his seat and glowered at Rothman. Davis cleared his throat and tapped the tablet in front of him to throw two images up on to the TV screens.

“There are confirmed sighting of Götze and Sanchez,” said Davis. “Götze was recognised almost immediately by the operations director at Port Newark-Elizabeth. According to him, Götze spent the best part of ten days installing their computer security system back in 2014. Apparently the Chinese hadn’t been happy with the one they had and demanded they upgrade if they wanted to trade with them. They contracted Götze because a couple of their other clients spoke highly of his work.

“Sanchez was recognised by a dozen of the longshoremen. Everyone I spoke to described him as something of a loner – would work with a very small, specific group of people or on his own. No one pulled him on it though ’cause he did the job right. Most of them sounded a little surprised to hear that he’d been arrested for trafficking but not that he’d been arrested – he apparent got into a couple of ugly fights while he was there and usually wasn’t the one left wearing the bruises. Individual timings vary but we have a rough timeline of him working at the Port between July 2016 and March this year.”

“Which is, presumably, when he upped-sticks and moved to Totowa,” concluded Marks, looking up from his notebook. “Sanchez I get – longshoremen can be transient – but why would the New York and New Jersey Port Authority hire a computing engineer from _Ohio_? Regardless of his recommendations, that’s still one hell of a trip.”

“Something that, when pointed out to the operations director, received a shrug and non-committal response,” said Davis.

“OK, was Richmond able to give us any more answers?” asked Marks.

“Cassano was recognised as a longshoreman,” said Phil as Steve threw another image on to the screen. “Operations Director seemed dismayed that he’d been arrested – said Cassano was a good kid, just a little misguided at times.”

“No – a little misguided is Kit trying to use Clint’s early compound bows in an effort to improve his strength,” said Tony, viscously. “Or Theo doing his best to live off caffeine and sugar when he’s preparing for an exam. What Cassano is involved with? It’s disgusting, inhumane and barbaric.”

“I agree with you Tony,” said Phil, soothingly. “But since Cassano didn’t discuss his extracurricular activities with his boss, the Operations Director can’t give us anything more than what he saw at work. He was apparently well-liked,  enjoyed his job and his record only had a couple of reprimands – one for becoming involved in a brawl in June 2016 and another for turning up drunk to work in February last year. His employment time overlapped Sanchez’, in that he started working at the Port in November 2015 and was there until April this year. Operations Director said he’d spoken about a family issue in Totowa that meant he needed to return home and had asked that the Port not to renew his contract.”

“Someone got too close,” said Marks. “No way their dual return to Totowa is pure coincidence.”

“I’ll do my best to get the SHIELD reports,” said Phil. “Let me try _without_ JARVIS first, Tony.”

“First,” agreed Tony, a little mulishly but honestly too tired to argue the instruction.

“Who is running this investigation on the west coast?” asked Steve, looking up from his tablet where he had been dragging _something_ into a centre point.

“Jasper,” said Phil and Steve tapped in the relevant email address and fired off the message.

“Steve, what ya doing?” asked Tony, raising an eyebrow at the super-soldier even as he fought a grin at Rothman’s stunned expression. Honestly, Steve had been immersed in 21st century life for the last six-and-a-half years, why was it still a surprise that he knew how to use the associated technology?

“Updating the SHIELD team on the west coast,” said Steve. “And asking them to make specific enquiries into whether our detainees have been around Port Los Angeles and/or Port Metro Vancouver.”

“What’s your thinking?” asked Phil.

“That Mostovoi is not going to get his hands dirty at the ports,” said Steve. “There’s only so much he can do as a visitor to any port, even if he is some big shot in the cyber-crimes world. The Longshoremen on the other hand would be able to move around with a lot more ease, especially if the tracking systems have been compromised by the ones setting them up. If he’s working from the four ports, he will have needed to set up links first.”

“And who better than to establish them than the transient Longshoremen,” concluded Phil. Steve nodded in agreement.

“So the reason me and Agent Marks had to go Port hopping?” asked Tony, catching a yawn. “If I’d known I was gonna be doing that, I would’ve gone down this morning with Clint and the kids.”

“We talked about that, Tony,” said Phil. “We need to know how much freedom a businessman had around the Ports.”

“I’m not in the same league as Mostovoi,” Tony said with a shake of his head.

“Thank God,” said Steve and Tony threw his stylus at him with startling accuracy. Steve allowed the implement to bounce off his chest before setting it back on the table.

“I could demand that I see everything from the control towers to the docks to the computer mainframes to the employee canteen,” said Tony, as though Steve hadn’t spoken. “I seriously doubt Mostovoi could do the same.”

“You are that arrogant to think your name will open whatever door you demand?” asked Rothman.

“Damn right,” said Tony. “Because attached to the name is a multi _billion_ dollar company and bank account. If I’m talking about bringing that much trade to the Ports and the cities, people are gonna do everything they can to have me actually do it. Mostovoi’s bank balance isn’t so attractive.”

“And since you have more common sense than to piss either me or Clint off in this investigation,” said Phil in a tone that clearly indicated that Tony’s smart comments were not going to be appreciated. “What did you find?”

“That the security on the ground at Port Newark-Elizabeth is impressive,” said Tony. “Both on the water and on the dock – employee-IDs always showing, patrolling teams of armed security guards, numerous check-points. Incoming ships are subject to random searches before docking and the marina is patrolled by customs and harbour patrol boats.”

“And Richmond?” asked Phil.

“Not nearly as tight,” said Marks. “But not lax enough that it would be easy to pull off something the size we’re estimating Mostovoi has going on. Kids in a Port are always a cause for concern regardless of how healthy they look.”

“I’ll speak to the Director about testing for the loopholes,” said Phil, adding the point to the list he had been making throughout the session. “Here and on the western seaboard. Does anyone have anything else constructive to add?”

He was answered by six shaking heads so, closing his notebook, dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Tony all but ran from the room while Davis and Marks departed at a slightly more sedate pace, the Fugitive Recovery Agent dragging Rothman with him. Steve remained where he was, flicking through the search results JARVIS had downloaded from the keyword searches he had been silently running throughout the meeting.

* * *

Upon his exit of the War Room, Tony made his way down to his lab, having the urgent need to destroy something with as much of a flash-and-bang as was possible. His mind and vision tunnelled to the various experiments and projects he had in various stages of development, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to get the necessary satisfaction from the standard labs and headed straight for the subterranean bunker where his Iron Man suits were stored.

“JARVIS, find me a target,” he ordered as he readied the Mark XXII.

“There is still _AIM_ weaponry in use in Homs, Syria,” said JARVIS. “Sir, should I inform Agent Barton of your departure?”

“No,” said Tony. “It’s what? 5,600 miles to Syria?”

“5655.73 miles to Damascus,” corrected JARVIS. “5613.51 miles to Homs.”

“Then I’ll be home before breakfast,” said Tony. “Don’t need to worry anyone.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied JARVIS, even as he sounded disapproving of the idea.

“JARVIS,” warned Tony. “We’ve all got our demons – Clint knows and understands this one.”

“Yes, Sir,” said JARVIS. “However, I would be more comfortable if you at least let your husband know where you’re going.”

“No,” repeated Tony. “Because then he’ll try to follow me and he is needed here to protect the kids and stop Tasha going off the deep end.”

“I shall ensure Agent Rothman is aware of the danger in leaving the guest apartment this evening,” said JARVIS. Tony scowled at the Iron Man helmet before he put it on.

“I’d rather you find a reason I can kick her out,” he said. “And, J, if Clint shows up in Syria I will let Ashley get inventive.”

“Yes, Sir,” said JARVIS with as much a sigh as he was capable of. Tony nodded once before taking off out the Tower via one of the subterranean roadways that opened out into the streets of New York.

“Agent Barton, I am sorry,” said JARVIS when Tony had disappeared. Clint swung down from the rafter he had been crouched on, his attention focussed on the now empty charge bay for the Mark XXII.

“He’s right, JARVIS,” said the archer. “I understand that particular demon all too well to ask him not to fight it.”

“Do you wish me to ready the Mark XIV?” asked JARVIS. Clint turned to look at the appropriate charge bay for the Iron Man suit Tony had designed specifically for Clint’s use. For a moment he was tempted by the idea but then he caught a brief flash of the series of seemingly random dots that decorated the outer side his left elbow.

“Got a job to do here,” he said, moving to the elevator. “Rhodey’s still out in Kabul, right?”

“He is,” confirmed JARVIS. “His current deployment is expected to last for another four months.”

“Then let him know,” said Clint. “He’s closer than I am if Tony gets in over his head.”

“Very good, Sir,” agreed JARVIS. “Do you wish to be contacted in such an event?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Clint. “Audio, visual, life-signs and direct communication link to both of them.”

“Certainly, Sir,” said JARVIS. “Oh, and Agent Romanoff is wondering you can ‘work your magic’ with Master Zachary. It appears he is suffering from teething pains again and is struggling to settle.”

“Freeze dry a flannel for me,” said Clint with a light chuckle. “And tell Tasha I’m on my way up.”

“Very good, Sir.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Boss, I need to go to Quantico,” Clint said, dropping himself into the seat before Phil’s desk.

“Clint, we talked about this,” said Phil, looking up from his paperwork with an expression of regret on his face. “You said you understood why we can’t use our contacts.”

“And I hold to it,” said Clint. “I also have no intention of letting Aaron know I’m there. I _do_ however need to go to the firing ranges and Quantico is closer than Fort Benning.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t kill everyone in that café,” said Clint. “Dimitri Mostovoi may have been 1300 miles away when I killed his brother but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t able to have someone work out where the shot had been fired from. I need to know how easy that is and how skilled a marksman you need to be in order to do it.”

“That the mission was given to you would imply a high standard,” said Phil.

“No, I got that mission because I was driving the Directorate up the wall and they were looking for a reason to get me away from HQ,” said Clint. “Grozny just happened to be the next one that came up on the Specialist Mission sheet. Anyway, you remember that serial sniper case in LA about 13 years ago?”

“Ian came home thoroughly bemused by the idea of a mathematician taking over part of his job,” said Phil with a ghost of a smile.

“Exactly,” said Clint. “Charlie had never fired a gun until that case and he only did it because Ian had bruised his ego a little. My point is that if someone who can barely stand to hold a gun let alone fire it can work out a shooter’s starting position, how good do you have to be in order to accurately pinpoint a sniper’s nest?”

“There a reason you can’t use the SHIELD officers?”

“I either trained them or they’ve been there long enough that they’ve been able to read the report,” said Clint. “And depending on the results, I might need to branch out and give the applied math students at UNE a shot.”

“Excuse me?” said Phil, blinking in mild horror. Clint scrubbed the back of his head.

“I don’t need to actively think when I shoot,” he said. “I compensate of things like distance, wind speed and the weather without any conscious thought. I can also look at the end result of a shooting and tell you with a high level of accuracy where the shooter was standing. Hopefully, the students at Quantico will be able to give me the right answer and while it’s safer to plan for the eventuality, we can’t just assume we’re gonna end up dealing with a trained marksman.”

“Hence the UNE,” said Phil with a sigh. “Have you actually spoken to anyone at either location?”

“Wanted you to give me the go ahead first,” Clint said with a shake of his head. “And I want to use actual data from the mission report.”

“Most of that is still classified information, Clint!”

“Not all of it,” said Clint. “And I wasn’t planning on giving away much of the context. Just the final result and a few details like the lighting and weather conditions and letting the students extrapolate from there.”

“Spend the rest of the day writing out the problem,” said Phil. “Every single detail, including the things you want to use from the original mission reports and briefs. I also want you to write an explanation as to why you believe this needs to be done. I’ll do my best to get Fury’s OK but you must be prepared to alter your question if he deems it necessary and I want no foul temper if he says no, understand?”

“I gotcha Boss,” said Clint with a nod as he prepared to stand.

“And you’re taking Agent Marks with you,” said Phil. “To Quantico at least.”

“Not a problem, Boss,” said Clint, disappearing from the office.

* * *

“Holst?” Bruce said as he appeared in the communal lounge to find the orchestral music filtering from every speaker and Clint seated with his knees tucked under the coffee table, the surface of which was covered in a notebook, StarkPad, several SHIELD files and a well-thumbed paperback that declared itself _Sniper Training_ (and was currently being used as a coaster for a half-drunk bottle of orange juice). Clint looked up with a chuckle.

“The wedding vow was about _accepting_ Tony’s music taste,” he said. “Said nothing about changing my own.”

“So what’s the _Bringer of War_ inspired?” Bruce asked, settling down beside Clint and taking a look at his notebook. What he saw caused his eyes to widen in surprise.

“This is pretty fancy applied mathematics,” he said. Clint snorted and shook his head.

“I can barely do the regular stuff,” he said. “ _That_ is the breakdown of a sniper shot.”

“It’s drag coefficients,” said Bruce, flipping through the notebook and naming each equation as he went. “Wind velocity calculations, trajectory calculations, distance estimates…… you really need all this to fire a gun?”

“If you want to hit your target rather than give away your own position, yeah,” said Clint. Bruce blinked at him, looking mildly stupefied.

“This isn’t in your file,” he said.

“It is,” Clint said. “Right under the bit where it says speciality. The equations are something that come with the territory and weren’t something I actually thought about until Kit wanted to become a sniper.”

“That explain the state of the paperback?” asked Bruce, looking up from the notebook in time to catch Clint’s nod.

“It’s instinct of me,” he said. “Kit needed to know the theory and math behind each shot. Boss had Ian teach me.”

“He didn’t do it himself?” Bruce asked.

“Boss ain’t a sniper,” Clint replied. “Part of the reason I get so much leeway in the field if he’s my handler. Anyway, Ian recommended the paperback and then had me breakdown some of his older shots – some Army, some FBI – make sure I had actually understood what I was reading.”

“So the need to brush up on your teaching skills?” asked Bruce, glancing at the tablet and noting the skeleton of a teaching plan as well as a typed copy of some of the equations in the notebook.

“Need to know if my nest in Grozny was compromised,” said Clint. “Want to give it as a problem set to the rookies up at Quantico and the students at UNE. Boss wants me to write _everything_ out before he passes it by Fury for the OK.”

“Want a hand?” asked Bruce. Clint scrubbed a hand over his face and flicked up a text file on his tablet before handing it to Bruce.

“Make sure my explanation for all this actually makes sense,” he said. Bruce accepted the tablet and settled back against the sofa and pulling out the stylus from its holder.

“Mind if I try solving your equations?” he asked.

“Feel free,” said Clint. “Least that way I can tell Fury if we can actually expect an answer from someone.”

* * *

“You and Clint are a constant source of amazement and inspiration,” said Bruce as he slid into bed later that evening, pulling Natasha close so that her head rested against his shoulder.

“In what way?” asked Natasha.

“SHIELD has ordered that you face the Devil himself,” said Bruce. “And anyone who knows you can tell that the very idea has the pair of you terrified, nearly out of your wits.”

“That is not cause for inspiration,” said Natasha.

“It is,” said Bruce. “Because instead of giving into that fear and running as far and as fast as you can, both of you are standing determined to face him. What’s more, you’re doing everything you can to make sure everyone you take into your fight will make it out alive.”

“That is what a good team member does,” said Natasha.

“Maybe,” said Bruce. “But the training you’re giving Pepper? That is what a friend does. The way you’re guarding the kids? That is what a mother does.”

“I am not their mother,” protested Natasha, making to roll up and away from Bruce but finding herself pinned by the physicist’s arms.

“No,” he agreed. “But that does not change my conclusion. That you’ve taught Ashley the quickest way to your panic room as well as the safest way to carry Zach should they have to actually run there only helps to strengthen it.”

“How do you know that?” asked Natasha.

“You never told Ashley to keep her knowledge a secret from her family,” Bruce said. “I heard her speaking to Steve earlier, doing her best to persuade him that he didn’t have to spend all night watching her and Zach. When he asked her why, she said that Auntie Tasha had shown her a special room where only heroes and Princesses were allowed to hide.”

“Clint will not let me fight if I am guarding the children,” Natasha said.

“I have a feeling he will not allow _anyone_ to fight if they have Ashley and Zach hiding behind them,” said Bruce.

“Is it wrong that I am jealous of such devotion?” asked Natasha. Bruce felt his breathing hitch in mild despair at her words but Natasha was quick to qualify her statement.

“I was the unplanned and unwanted daughter of a KGB Lieutenant,” she said. “My mother died of TB when I was three and I was passed around numerous relatives for nine years, always treated as a burden, an extra mouth to feed. When my father died when I was twelve, no one wanted me and I was literally kicked into the street. Three years later I became a soldier for Red Room because my other choice was to die.”

“Oh, Tasha, I am so sorry,” murmured Bruce, increasing his hold around her shoulders and pressing kiss to her temple. Natasha pressed into his embrace, seeking more of the calming warmth Bruce emitted.

“I did not know what love was until I was pulled in from the cold,” she continued. “I knew lust and desire. I knew power. I knew fear and I knew how to kill but I never knew love.”

“Clint blindsided you, didn’t he?” said Bruce with a small chuckle.

“And Phil,” said Natasha. “They knew so much about me: They knew about my father; the crimes I had committed over the twenty years I was with Red Room; the things I had done just stay alive both then and before.”

“They refused to let your past define who you are,” said Bruce, smiling gently as he recalled both men’s efforts to have Bruce understand they accepted both him and the Other Guy. Natasha nodded against his shoulder.

“Instead of killing me as ordered,” she said. “Clint nearly died from a septic stab wound because he insisted Phil use a majority of their medical supplies to treat _my_ injuries which were minor in comparison. When we made it back to America, they gave me the same knowledge about their own past. When no one but an insubordinate archer fully trusted that I had changed allegiances, they made themselves so vulnerable that I classed it suicidal and stupid.”

“Their trust paid off though,” commented Bruce.

“It is difficult not to trust someone who had your back regardless of the consequences,” said Natasha with a small smile of remembrance before the expression fell and Bruce felt her try to curl into a ball at his side.

“Tasha?”

“Clint asked that I do not give Ashley or Zach same scars we carry,” she said. “I do not know how.”

“You’re already doing it,” said Bruce, his hand going up to card through Natasha’s hair. “It may not be as easy for you as it is Clint but that does not mean those children adore you any less. That you are Auntie Tasha rather than Agent Natasha and that it was _you_ Ashley dragged everywhere yesterday – despite Clint there – is proof of that. Do not be jealous of Clint’s relationship with the children or his devotion to them, moya zhar-ptitsa. Love has many faces and while he may gift you with a different one, do not doubt it is because he looks upon you with less love or devotion. And never doubt that what you are able to offer in return is any less precious or wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translation**  
>  _moya zhar-ptitsa_ \- my fire-bird
> 
> **Sources**  
>  _Sniper Training_ is a real field manual published by the Department of the Army in 1994. An html copy can be found here: <http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/policy/army/fm/23-10/index.html>


	9. Chapter 9

Fury gave the green light to Clint’s visit to Quantico mid-Thursday afternoon, partly because the archer had raised a valid point with his question and partly because he had just finished reading the progress reports the FBI Agents were completing. Davis had stuck to delivering the facts as he had been presented with them but both Marks and Rothman had filed an additional report regarding the group’s performance. Marks was responding to a direct request when he had completed that particular report – even if the team _didn’t_ have a personal connection to the men they were chasing, Fury still needed to know how his people were coping with their mission and he had determined the Fugitive Recovery Agent the best person to give him that insight. Rothman had filed the report off her own back and had basically submitted fourteen pages on why the Avengers, Phil and Agent Marks should back off and leave the investigation to the ‘professionals’ on the Innocent Images team.

Fury would have loved to have introduced the report to his shredder but it was an official document – which meant the FBI would be receiving one as well – and he really was not in the mood to be playing political games with other alphabet-soup Directors. That did not mean he had to actually pay any attention to the recommendations and had personally called the Tower to inform Clint and Marks that their assignment to Virginia and Maine was a go and they were cleared for as long as was needed.

Bruce, Natasha, Steve and Phil had nodded in understanding, Davis wished them luck while Rothman had looked three seconds away from delivering a verbal version of the report she’s handed Fury and Tony looked utterly dismayed that his Hawk was disappearing on him again.

“How long?” he asked, willing his voice to remain calm.

“Two in Maine,” said Clint. “Another three in Virginia. It’s a five hours drive north, another four and a half south and I want to actually be there while the kids try work out the answer.”

“You’re driving?” asked Tony.

“Not really got that much of a choice,” said Clint. “Marks doesn’t have a suit and it isn’t safe for me to carry him or for him to be in a suit that doesn’t know him.”

“Why you going, anyway?” asked Tony, turning to face the Fugitive Recovery Agent.

“To make sure he doesn’t end up in too much trouble on the base,” said Marks. “And my ID works better than his fame in that kind of environment.”

“In which case, it should be _me_ who is travelling with him,” said Rothman.

“Giving your attitude towards my Specialist since you arrived, Agent Rothman, I believe such a move would be counterproductive,” said Phil. “I requested that Agent Marks join Hawkeye on this excursion.”

“And the reason you can’t just head up tomorrow morning?” asked Tony, aware that he was starting to sound like a petulant child but not really caring. Clint wasn’t supposed to be disappearing this quickly again, even if his mission to Korea never really got off the ground.

“We’re hitting close to exam time with the guys at UNE,” said Clint. “Classes officially finished last Friday and this is being put to the students as an extra credit thing for those doing their honours. We travel up tomorrow and we get to less time with the students, which is something I am not willing to have happen.”

“And the reason you can’t do this math stuff over the internet?” asked Steve. “Or down in the labs with JARVIS?”

“We’ve been given the OK to use details that are, technically, still classified by SHIELD,” said Clint. “I need to limit how many people have access to it and email isn’t the safest form of communication, even if I did do it from a _StarkIndustries_ server. As for JARVIS – the mission file and my report are in his mainframe, the answer would pop up the second I’d put everything into the calculation.”

“Isn’t that what you need?” asked Steve. Clint shook his head.

“I made the shot, I know where my nest was,” he said. “That’s the answer I’d get if I used JARVIS. What I need to know is: if given a certain set of details, would someone else be able to work it out? Virginia is to check if you need to have some level of marksmanship, Maine is to check if you just need some skill with applied math. It’ll help decide who we should be looking for outside Mostovoi and his buddies currently cooling their heels at SHIELD.”

“And since we ain’t allowed to speak to anyone in California about this, we can’t just ask Edgerton or Epps,” sighed Tony.

“Trust me,” said Clint. “If I had that option, I’d take it.”

“Just come home safe and soon,” said Tony. Clint gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Soon as I have my answers, I’m home,” he promised, leaning over to give Tony a gentle kiss before standing up and motioning for Marks to follow him.

“Go-bag?” asked Clint.

“In the trunk of my car,” said Marks.

“Go get it,” he said. “We’re taking a SHIELD SUV.”

“We are?”

“Safest vehicles on the road,” said Clint, not going into detail. “I’ve gotta go tell Ashley I’m headed out on a mission. I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”

“Why?” asked Marks, a little bemused by the detour.

“Because even international assassins do not break the promises they make to children,” said Clint. “Level 2. Twenty minutes.”

* * *

“That mean you caught the man who hurt Auntie Tasha?” asked Ashley when Clint had explained that he was disappearing for a few days. Clint shook his head.

“Still looking for him, sweetie,” he said. “But he isn’t on his own. I need to go get help to work out who his buddies are.”

“If you flied you’d be home for story,” said Ashley.

“I gotta take a buddy with me,” said Clint, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust at the idea. “Uncle Phil doesn’t trust me to behave with the FBI.”

“So no fly?”

“So no fly,” agreed Clint, pulling his mini StarkPad from his pocket and pressing it into Ashley’s hand, a countdown calendar already showing on the screen. “It’s just four sleeps, baby. And this time, I get to call home.”

“Really?” asked Ashley, excited now that she didn’t have to miss out on _all_ of their goodnight ritual.

“Really,” said Clint. “And I have a special mission for you – make sure Auntie Tasha smiles at least once a day while I’m gone.”

“That’s easy!” declared the four-year-old, earning herself a chuckle from Clint as the archer pulled a faux-SHIELD ID badge from his pocket and pinning to Ashley’s t-shirt hem.

“Easy missions are the best ones,” said Clint. “But, Agent Strawb’ry, do you understand that you have a _secret_ mission? Only you and Daddy can know.”

“Yes, Sir,” nodded Ashley, wrapping her arms around Clint’s neck and pressing a messy kiss to his cheek before running back to where Happy was playing with Zach, the StarkPad held protectively to her chest.

“Sir, is Mrs Hogan aware that you are training her daughter to become a SHIELD Agent?” asked JARVIS when Clint had slipped back into the elevator.

“Yup,” grinned Clint. “I have explicit instruction _not_ to tell her the details because she’s too young for grey hairs. Happy on the other hand wants every single detail.”

“There were reasons why Mr Sark appointed him head of Tower Security,” said JARVIS. “Agents Romanoff and Coulson are waiting to join you from Level 72, Sir. Agent Marks is waiting in the main reception area.”

“Thanks, JARVIS,” said Clint. “You keep an eye on everyone for me? And make sure Tony actually leaves the lab to eat and sleep?”

“Of course, Sir,” said JARVIS. “And both DUMMY and Butterfingers are awaiting the necessary instruction.”

“Let DUMMY know where the fire extinguishers are,” Clint said as the elevator door opened to Level 72, allowing Natasha and Phil to enter, Clint wrapping his arms around his partner as soon as she was close enough.

“Cell phone will never leave my side,” he said quietly. “You need help, you call me OK? I’d rather you wake me at oh-dark-thirty than suffer on your own.”

“I will,” nodded Natasha.

“You run even an _hour_ over your deadline and I will come get you personally,” Phil warned his charge as he held out the keys and security pass for the vehicle he and Marks were to be using. Clint affected a highly put out expression as he took them.

“Boss, when was the last time I came home late?” he asked, quietly pleased by the derisive snort Natasha allowed to escape at his question. Phil pinned his charge with a granite-hard look that dared him to misbehave purely so Phil could enjoy the resultant punishment. Clint released a heavily dramatic sigh and turned his attention back to Natasha, murmuring something to her in Russian. Natasha shook her head violently against Clint’s shoulder as he spoke but the archer cupped the back of her head to keep it still as he repeated his words, his tone sharp. Phil didn’t know what to make of the situation when Natasha sighed in resignation and slumped against Clint’s side, murmuring her assent. Pressing a kiss to Natasha’s temple and gently encouraging her to settle against Phil’s shoulder just as the elevator doors opened, Clint strode out to meet his temporary FBI-handler and led the way to the garage stairwell.

* * *

In the end, Clint and Marks’ sojourn lasted just under the five days they had predicted. The sniper and marksmanship candidates at Quantico – which had ended up including about a dozen Marines when Colonel David W Maxwell, the Commander of the Marine Corps Base, had found out about the visit – had taken to their challenge with enthusiasm and had managed to provide Clint with more than one possible answer to his problem, each one backed up with more ‘that’s what the numbers are saying’. They had also managed to persuade the archer into a mini competition of marksman poker, which ended up being a closer call than anyone would believe. The students and tutors at the UNE were not so enthusiastic with their answers but, to be fair, the calculations themselves made for very dry subject material if there was no actual interest in the subject.

Still they were able to help answer the main question – if Mostovoi had worked out the location where his brother’s killer had been, the one to do the actual calculation needed to have been a sniper or marksman of _at least_ Marksman First-Class calibre.

“So, basically, I need to go upgrade the bullet vests you guys wear,” surmised Tony.

“Short of resorting to adding metal plates in the Kevlar,” said Clint. “There isn’t much you can do.”

“Isn’t much,” said Tony. “Means I can do _something_ , I just have limited options.”

“Give our federal companions the upgrades,” said Phil. “Then focus on some kind of tracking and identification programme of the suit.”

“They’re not the ones with a target painted on their back and forehead,” said Tony, sharply, with a pointed look towards Clint and Natasha.

“No,” agreed the archer. “But Widow has The Hulk watching her six and I have Iron Man. Give me the target and I can take them out but until that point we need to keep everyone else safe as possible.”

“Can’t we just leave them here when everything kicks off?” asked Bruce. “I mean, it never ends well when civilians get mixed up with our battles.”

“Does being an Avenger suddenly give you the right to execute an arrest warrant?” asked Rothman, looking smug that she was finally able to win the one-upmanship game.

“That’s why we work with SHIELD,” said Steve. “We kick in the doors and they bring the handcuffs.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have all that much jurisdiction with Mostovoi,” said Phil, both his tone and his expression regretful. “The six men we currently have in custody can be charged with various espionage crimes. Mostovoi, however, doesn’t came under our purview outside his linking between those previously arrested.”

“What if we prove his link to Red Room?” asked Bruce.

“Russia doesn’t recognise the organisation,” said Phil. “How do you propose we prove a Canadian citizen’s membership?”

“We’d come up with something,” said Tony.

“Stark,” warned Steve even as Clint took a swipe at his shoulder.

“Fine,” said Tony, sitting back and folding his arms in a defiant slouch. He pointed at Marks.

“Him, I’ll kit out,” he said. “Same gear as Tower Security and Avengers backup get. Agent you’re keeping the other two well out of the way until we have people they can serve.”

“I can work with that,” agreed Steve.

“Hawkeye, I want you and the Captain to include him in the training session you are leading tomorrow. It’ll give us a read on his limitations,” said Phil, looking between the two Avengers.

“Looking forward to it,” said Clint with a grin. “0830 tomorrow, Marks. Gym on Level 69.”

“Give me a list of the firearms the FBI has you rated for,” said Phil, sliding his notebook down the table to the agent. “I’ll get them from HQ.”

“Re-quals are less than a month old,” said Marks, looking a little put out by the instruction.

“That’s an outsider’s piece of paper,” said Steve. “You want to work with this team in the field, you will let my marksman rate what weapons you’re safe to carry.”

“Fine,” sighed Marks, looking to Clint. “Just the conventional stuff though.”

“Just the conventional stuff,” agreed Clint with a laugh.


	10. Chapter 10

Putting Marks through his paces involved throwing him in with two dozen of SHIELD’s newest recruits, most of whom originally hailed from the armed forces and whose eventual destination was hoped to be a SHIELD security team. Clint spent two hours exhausting their knowledge on every weapon they were rated to use, testing their skills in striping and building the weapons, target accuracy from a variety of positions and distances, technical specifications on the weapon in use and their observation and reaction-times. After a twenty minute break, Steve proceeded to assess their fitness by running a modified version of the Army’s Physical Fitness Test. After a forty-five minute break, during which the personnel were strongly advised to eat something and rehydrate with isotonic drinks, Kit took over the final stage of assessment – close combat skills, both armed and unarmed.

“Opinions, gentlemen?” asked Fury when he and Phil came across Clint examining the firing range targets, the archer wielding a brilliant red marker with the same deliberate intent as Natasha wielded her knives, while Steve and Kit watched the video footage of their sessions and analysed the bio-readings that JARVIS had recorded.

“Wouldn’t trust Ensign Jacobs to watch my _beer_ let alone my six,” said Clint, pulling out a couple of targets and tossing them to the Director. “Kid can’t shoot straight ’cause his hands were all shaky from nerves. Put him somewhere that gives him exposure but isn’t the frontline then send him back to me when he’s grown up a couple years. And if you put Major Ashford anywhere near my boys, I guarantee he will not last the _week_.”

“Oh?” asked Fury unrolling the targets.

“He’s cocky, arrogant and of the misguided opinion that I care about the gold maple leaf on his shoulder,” said Clint, straightening up and folding his arms. “I will shoot him myself.”

“That decision have anything to do with the fact he’s apparently willing to shoot children in the head?” asked Fury, closely examining one of the targets he held.

“Told you modelling that course of the Men in Black would come back to bite you,” said Kit, not looking up from the biorhythm charts he was comparing.

“And Ashford watched that movie far too often,” said Clint, tossing another target to Phil. “Because I had the kid holding a teddy bear not a pile of advanced physics texts. I don’t want anyone on my teams who only pays attention to details he _wants_ to see. Corporal Ortiz on the other hand, I want on the first response backup soon as you get the paperwork finished.”

“That impressive?” asked Phil.

“Last kid I saw shoot that good was Specialist Holtz,” said Clint. “Give her a couple missions to get used to us then I’d trust her to watch our six.”

“High praise indeed,” said Fury, turning to Steve. “And how did our newly promoted Watch Captain fair?”

“Say what now?” said Kit, his head jerking up from his tablet. Clint’s grin was mischievous while Steve’s held a glimmer of paternal pride.

“Had me double checking that I was presentable and fighting the urge to spring to attention,” said Steve. “Little practice and he’d give Colonel Phillips a good run for his money.”

“Come again?”

“Big difference between training SHIELD Agents and drilling the new recruits,” said Fury.

“So this was a trial run?” asked Kit.

“One which I believe you have just passed with flying colours,” said Phil, looking as proud as Steve. “What of Agent Marks?”

“Physically, he’s got the stamina and flexibility that mean he should be more than capable of keeping up with us in the field,” said Steve.

“Close combat is a weird blend of various martial arts,” said Kit. “It’s effective though and arrogant Air Force Majors make a lovely sound when they hit the mat. Needs to work on tightening a few of his stances but I’d give him the OK for field work.”

“Hawk?” asked Fury.

“Have him kitted out with full tactical gear,” said Clint. “And get Tony to fit his weapons with RFID chips. Wouldn’t trust him to do it blindfolded but I trust he knows how and when to use each of his weapons and how to keep them in working order so they don’t end up taking him out instead.”

“And did any of you remember that we have to give him back to the FBI eventually?” asked Phil with a raised eyebrow as he caught the last part of one of Kit’s assessments that just so happened to show Marks being flipped painfully on to his back by Ortiz. He could see why Clint was going argue to keep the Army Corporal and silently wished him luck.

“None of us touched him, Boss,” said Clint. “Besides, Thom needs a new practice dummy.”

* * *

‘None of us touched him, Boss,’ still managed to have given Marks a cracker of a black-eye, some mild friction burns on his right forearm and a split lip that had required a couple of stitches. When the Avengers and the Federal Agents were all gathered back in the War Room mid-afternoon, Bruce and Tony winced in sympathy at the damage while Rothman looked scandalised by the extent. Davis looked greatly relieved that he had not been chosen to be put through his paces and Marks himself was carrying everything with pride. Even if he was wincing every so often.

“So this mean that I passed?” he asked, looking between Clint, Steve and Phil. The two Avengers grinned while Phil gave him a smiling nod.

“Yes, you passed,” he said. “Kit and Clint both have a few pointers for you but overall, they trust your skills for the field.”

“Nice,” said Marks with an ill-advised grin. “Though I’ve gotta ask – the kid that was leading the close-combat? He ex-SEAL or something?”

“Former,” corrected Phil. “And no. He’s been a SHIELD operative since he was 18.”

“Most of his physical training just happens to have come from former Spec-Ops personnel,” said Clint, handing Natasha the recordings of Marks’ training session. “He then spent four years as a team leader to the Avengers’ first response backup and the last thirteen months putting the new recruits through their paces. Got promoted to Watch Captain three months ago.”

“And no you can’t steal him for the feds,” said Tony, playing with a something on his tablet. “Stand up so JARVIS can get your measurements.”

“Eh?”

“Been given instructions to get you kitted out in full tactical gear,” said Tony, waving his tablet at the man. “Stuffs all made-to-measure rather than one-size-does-all and as smart as JARVIS _is_ , he can’t accurately take your measurements when you’re slouched into a chair and hiding under the table. And I’ll need to see all your weapons soon-as so I can fit them with RFID chips. You prefer a silver or gold ring?”

“Ah, husband sitting right there,” said Marks, making to wave towards Clint only to have Tony slap his hand back down. Clint himself was trying very hard not to laugh too loudly at Marks’ wide-eyed expression.

“Husband gets titanium bracelets,” said Tony. “And no right to complain because this was his idea in the first place. Now, gold or silver because I can do without the law suit when you break out in hives.”

“Silver,” said Marks.

“JARVIS?”

“All measurements and preferences recorded,” said JARVIS. “I estimate forty-nine hours until completion.”

“RFID chips and made-to-measure gear?” said Marks, taking his seat again. “What happens when I go back to the day job?”

“Depends on how generous I’m feeling,” said Tony. “And _that_ will depend greatly on how this all pans out.”

“To which end, we’ve got bad news,” said Davis. Clint’s laughter died in his throat, his expression growing dark as he caught Natasha’s grip tightening around the tablet.

“Details,” he demanded.

“Magic word?” said Rothman.

“Now or I will torture them out of you,” growled Clint moving to stand behind the nauseous looking Natasha. When she laid a hand over the one placed on her shoulder rather than shrugging it off as was her usual reaction, Clint’s expression turned dangerous.

This was going to be messy.

“Bodies are starting to show up,” said Davis. “We’ve had confirmed ID on four of them.”

“How’d you work out they’re relevant to us?” asked Clint.

“Because the ID came from SHIELD,” said Davis. “Until that point, they’d all been listed as Jane or John Does.”

“Still not getting how that makes them relevant to us,” said Clint.

“The comparison DNA came from the SHIELD teams in the Middle-East,” said Bruce. “It seems they have a good relationship with a majority of the communities they’re stuck into.”

“Most the foreign-soil teams do,” said Phil. “We have dumpsite details?”

“You want that before knowing who was dumped?” asked Rothman.

“Yes,” said Clint, his voice once more a growl. “Because the only thing we can now do for the dead is make sure they get the burial they deserve. The dumpsites can tell us more about the bastards responsible and hopefully let us catch them before _more_ bodies show up. Do we have them?”

“They appear to be random,” said Davis as Bruce threw a map of New York on to the TV screens, followed by multiple coloured dots: sixteen blue, four red. The majority of the dots were on the east side of the Hudson River, putting them under the jurisdiction of the New York Coroner’s Office, but three blue dots were on the west side of the River, putting them under New Jersey’s jurisdiction.

“Not so much,” said Steve. “Six are in the Bronx, another four are in Harlem and two are on Coney Island.”

“We got pictures?” asked Clint.

“Yeah,” said Davis, tapping his tablet to send multiple files of pictures up on to the screens. He pulled four into the foreground and both Clint and Natasha’s grip on their partner increased. All four were of teenage girls, each one barely clothed and wrapped in scraps of material that had come loose, either during transport or dumping. Each one was covered in multiple bruises and burns, Natasha hissing like a scalded cat when she recognised some of the circular burns to be the result of a cigarette butt. A number of red and purple scars indicated older injuries that had been in the process of healing when the victims were killed.

“Names,” Clint demanded.

“Farah Siddqui, fifteen year old Afghani citizen,” said Davis, highlighting the girls as he spoke. “Samira an-Nahr, seventeen year old Iraqi; Hafsa Najah, fifteen year old Iraqi; and Sabba Tehrani, sixteen year old Iranian.”

“Timeline?” asked Steve. “Both when they were found and their time of death.”

“Farah was found twenty-four days ago – she had been dead four days,” said Davis. “Hafsa was found twenty-one days ago – she had been dead two. Sabba was found sixteen days ago – she had been dead three days. Samira was found ten days ago – she had been dead a matter of hours.”

“Are all the dumpsites this run down?” asked Marks. Davis collapsed the four images so the other sixteen could also be seen in some level of detail.

“More or less,” he surmised. “Some are a little more exposed than others but they all fall under the general theme of semi-public and refuge disposal.”

“That mean something?” asked Steve.

“Whoever is disposing of these girls doesn’t see them worthy of a proper burial,” said Marks.

“The fact that they are left largely unclothed and what material they _do_ have is rags at best supports that idea,” said Davis. “Given their homelands, these girls are most likely to be Shia or Sunni Muslim. As such, their injuries should have been seen to as much as possible, they should be buried facing Mecca and wrapped in linen shrouds. That they’ve been dumped in alleyways and next to garbage bins where they are more than likely to be disturbed is a dishonour.”

“Do we have autopsy reports?” asked Tony.

“Unfortunately for these girls, yes,” said Bruce.

“Excuse me?” said Rothman. “Unfortunately?”

“Islam strongly objects to post-mortem mutilation of the body,” said Bruce. “So yes, unfortunately for these girls, an autopsy was carried out. Clint, you might want to sit down for these.”

“I’m good, doc,” said Clint, squaring his shoulders but not relaxing his grip on Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha tilted her head back and tugged at his hand.

“Eto plokho, Orlenok,” she said. “Luchshe, yesli vy sadites'.”

“Bad how?” asked Clint.

“Pytki,” said Natasha, increasing her grip on Clint’s hand as it twitched against her shoulder. “Bolezn'.”

“Hawkeye, sit down!” ordered Phil as he looked up from the reports he’d been skimming, his concentration mainly on the various causes of death. His tone was harsh, not in anger but in need. Need to have Clint follow his instruction for the archer’s own good.

“Boss?” asked Clint, doing as he was told as all eyes flicked between Phil and his charges. Phil took a deep breath, held it for a moment then released it slowly before answering Clint’s query.

“All four victims show evidence of physical assault, neglect and malnutrition,” he said. “Farah died of starvation, Sabba and Hafsa of dehydration and Samira of postpartum haemorrhaging.”

“Child Birth,” clarified Bruce.

Clint bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translations**
> 
> _Eto plokho, Orlenok_ \- it is bad, eaglet
> 
>  _Luchshe, yesli vy sadites'_ \- It is better if you sit down
> 
>  _Pytki_ \- torture
> 
>  _Bolezn'_ \- sickness


	11. Chapter 11

It was a well-known fact that Clint loved high places (Phil blamed at least a quarter of his grey hairs on that love) and it was a surprise to no one that he had a nest at the Tower. It was also a well-known fact that he made one at every mission post he was sent to, regardless of the length of time he was expected to be in one place. What was not as well-known was that when badly spooked, Clint did not run for those nests – they were too well known to others for them to be safe when Clint was that emotionally compromised.

On the Helicarrier and New York HQ, he would retreat to the ventilation duct above Phil’s office (until Phil realised where the nest was, at which point Clint graduated to hiding in the gap between his handler’s sofa and the back wall). At the Tower, he usually retreated to the ventilation ducts above whichever lab Tony was making his own at the time but on this occasion JARVIS reported that Clint had left the Tower altogether, a destination being left declared. A resultantly concerned Phil and Natasha descended upon Tony in his lab.

“JARIVS is keeping track of the RFID chip in Clint’s bracelets and weapons,” Tony informed them, squinting through a magnifying scope as he fixed something on Kit’s hearing-aid.

“So far, we’ve got a rough location and both chips are pinging from the same spot,” he continued. “Anyone called St Nick’s?”

“Doesn’t run there without telling someone first,” said Phil. “Long standing order from when he first joined SHIELD.”

“Uh-huh,” said Tony. “You sure we’re talking about the same Hawk? The one I know isn’t good at following all the rules. And the pinging is pretty close to the Orphanage.”

“He keeps that one,” said Kit from where he was laying on the sofa, his head in Thom’s lap – being half-deaf came in useful at times but the substantial blind spot created by the absence of sound did horrible things to the Captain’s balance that, even after nineteen years, he still hadn’t learnt to compensate for properly.

“Under normal circumstances maybe,” said Tony. “But these aren’t normal circumstances. SHIELD ever given him a reason to bolt like this before?”

“Year after I found him,” said Phil. “But that time he took refuge in my office before I was able to take him home.”

“So Thom and your Mom aren’t the solution,” said Tony, frowning at the hearing-aid and rummaging around for something in the components tray to his right. “Tasha, you seen him do this before?”

“Once,” said Natasha, sounding regretful. “Just before Chitauri attacks on New York.”

“At which point he was allowed an immediate outlet and by the time we were catching our breaths, Fury was on the line with his ‘oops, sorry I lied’ spiel,” said Tony.

“We found him in Columbia Gardens Cemetery the first anniversary of those attack,” said Thom.

“That’s 230 miles away,” said Phil. “He wouldn’t fly that far in the middle of a mission, regardless of how spooked he is.”

“You’re not looking for him after Agents have died,” said Kit, cautiously pushing himself up into a seating position. “You’re looking for him after a child has died. I think I know where he is. Tony, you done?”

“Not even close,” said Tony, still scowling at the hearing-aid. “Gonna take me another hour to get this right. Want to tell me why, when you have me as your brother-in-law, _this_ is the type of aid you are wearing outside the field?”

“Because SHIELD is possessive of its tech and that’s what I can afford,” said Kit, a little testy about the subject. “And I always wear something more obvious for training – catches people off guard.”

“Uh-huh,” said Tony. “Well, before you two disappear back to Providence, you and I are sitting down and designing a better piece. The stuff you’re using is too delicate for your job. Where’s Clint?”

“St Nicholas and the Holy Innocents,” said Kit. “It’s a memorial statue. I’m gonna need a driver.”

“Thom, go with him,” said Phil with a resigned sigh. Thom looked startled by the suggestion while Natasha looked ready to mutiny and Tony was still scowling at the tech in his hand, even if he had added a raised eyebrow to the expression.

“If he wanted us to find him,” said Phil, gathering up Natasha’s hand. “He’d run where we’d look.”

“And the reason you can’t wait an hour?” asked Tony, looking up in time to notice exactly how shot Kit’s balance actually was and not liking it. Natasha slapped the back of his head, her expression a snarl of pain and anger.

“At least pretend you care!” she snapped. Tony looked justifiably affronted by the accusation.

“He’s half deaf!” he snapped back, pointing at Kit. “And his balance to shot completely to hell. Clint is armed and can look after himself for another hour – excuse me for wanting _both_ of them to come back in one piece!”

“He overthinks,” said Kit. “If he’s left alone too long, he’s gonna twist this around so that it will be damn near impossible for anyone to deny he carries some of the blame.”

“And how the hell is he gonna be able to draw that conclusion?” demanded Tony.

“He begged that Dimitri Mostovoi be allowed to live,” said Phil, Natasha’s grip on his hand convulsing as Tony’s mouth formed a silent ‘o’ of realisation.

“Oh, hell!” groaned Kit before jabbing Thom in the ribs to get him moving.

* * *

True to Kit’s prediction, Clint was found in the graveyard owned and cared for the parish of St Nicholas Roman Catholic Church. He was sitting Indian-style before marble statue of St Nicholas of Myra, the patron of the parish. Surrounding the saint were marble statues of three young children, the smallest of which was being carried on the man’s shoulder. Around the plinth was carved images of the Holy Innocent, the male infants slaughtered by order of King Herod in his search for the infant Jesus. Beneath them was a gold-laid inscription:

_Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come to me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven_

MATTHEW 19:14

Kit wasted no time in curling himself around his mentor’s back, wrapping his arms around the archer’s torso and seeking out his hands as he rested his chin on Clint’s shoulder. Thom settled beside them, resting a hand on the brushing knees of his husband and honouree brother-in-law.

“You’re trying to carry the world again, Clint,” said Thom. Clint took a shuddery breath as he turned his attention to Thom, Kit tightening his hold around him as he did so.

“An infant has lost its mother because of a decision I made nineteen years ago,” he said.

“No,” said Thom. “An infant lost its mother because of complications in child birth. You cannot know that that wouldn’t have happened if she has still been in her home country.”

“At least she would have had a chance,” said Clint. Thom shook his head.

“You can’t know that,” he said. “You saved a child’s life when you were in Grozny. You are not responsible for what Dimitri Mostovoi chose to do with that gift.”

“He’s a Red Room brat,” said Clint with a cold, harsh laugh that caused Kit to flinch. “Even then, we had a pretty good idea what that meant. But no, instead of taking out a threat, I let fever, pain and exhaustion get the better of me and I _begged_ your Dad that he be allowed to live. I should’ve made sure everyone in that café was dead before bringing Tasha in so that there wasn’t a Marksman First-Class on the other side of the scope aiming at my family.”

“It wouldn’t have been Hawkeye that returned from Grozny if you’d done that,” said Kit. “Wouldn’t even have been Ronin if you’d killed a kid.”

“Who?” asked Thom.

“A violent gun-for-hire that SHIELD still has listed as ‘drop on sight’,” said Kit. “Only way you’d escape his crosshairs was if you were a kid.”

 “I made Fury keep that order active,” said Clint with a slight growl.

“And it damn near got you killed when Loki took you,” said Kit.

“And I’m lost,” declared Thom.

“It’s who I was between leaving the Army and being picked up by your Dad,” said Clint. “Mercenary who fancied himself a bounty hunter. It was the person I became while Loki took me.”

“So you became one of SHIELD’s best agents how?” asked Thom.

 “Your Dad,” said Clint. “And Mother Mary Catherine. When everyone else was deciding the best way to take me out, they risked everything to give me a roof over my head and a job that meant Hawkeye could become more than a flashy circus act. I don’t think they meant to but they gave me a family – something that was _worth_ protecting – and the only thing either of them asked was that I come home. Didn’t even have to be in one piece – I just had to come home. The rest just sorta happened.”

“You ask me, Ronin was the flashy title,” said Thom. “’Cause I wasn’t introduced to a cold-bloodied killer. I was introduced to this streetwise guy who was happy to keep up with, and actively encourage, whatever nonsense I was spouting. I got to see this shy kid who was an eager study in the kitchen, who made the best Snickerdoodle cookies I have ever tasted and who blushed scarlet whenever Grams or Dad praised you. I got to see this world-weary soldier who was made happy by the simplest of things that the rest of us would either ignore or take for granted.”

“Ár caomhnóir aingeal,” said Kit, tightening his hold around Clint again.

“I’m no angel, Kit,” negated Clint.

“I doubt anyone who’s been through St Nick’s in the last twenty years is going to agree with you on that one,” said Thom with a gentle laugh. “’specially him and Hannah. As for the scared kids you are going to rescue soon as it’s been worked out where the Avengers should strike, you’re going to be answer to every prayer, plea and bargain they’ve made since they got dragged into Hell.”

“Me and my team are on your six every step until you do,” said Kit. “Got Director’s permission day Chief told us exactly which ghosts you were hunting.”

“You aren’t doing anything ’til you get your hearing aid fixed,” said Clint. Thom burst out laughing while Kit reeled back slightly in surprise.

“How?”

“I’m one of SHIELD’s top agents,” smirked Clint, twisting his head to face Kit. Kit scowled at him. “You always talk louder when you’re aid’s playing up. What happened?”

“Commander Carson happened,” said Kit. “He got in a lucky shot that took me to the mats and broke something in the internal wiring when I landed. He’s mortified and Tony’s unimpressed with the kit I wear.”

“You’re insulting his ego and his engineering prowess,” said Clint with a small chuckle.

“Yeah, he implied that,” said Kit.

“And he’s now plotting our escape back to Providence before he’s measured for some shiny new piece of tech,” said Thom, shifting so that the trio would be able to stand without throwing any of them off balance.

“Not gonna happen,” said Clint. Kit muttered something indistinct as he was hauled back to his feet and didn’t protest as Clint wrapped his arm around his waist, moulding the younger sniper into his side, as Thom led the way back to the car.

* * *

Clint’s arrival back at the Tower was met with minimal reaction. Bruce gripped his forearm in silent support and understanding before handing him an apron and directing him to wash, peel and cube the vegetables that were for that night’s dinner. Tony had interrupted the production chain as Clint was moving on to the carrots, drawing his husband into a gentle kiss that spoke of nothing but welcome and reassurance. Clint returned the kiss and broke away with a small smile of thanks that Tony took as permission to turn on Kit with schematics for a new hearing aid. When Phil and Natasha appeared, Natasha had embraced Clint briefly, kissed his cheek with a murmured phrase of Russian and stolen a carrot cube before accepting the mort-and-pestle Bruce was holding in her direction. Phil had merely rested his hand against the nape of Clint’s neck, earning himself a small smile in return, before the Agent pulled the bowl of peas towards him and started to shell them.

Steve hadn’t joined them for the preparations or the meal itself, instead opting to have something of a business dinner with the three FBI Agents, whereupon he set out the hows, whys, whats and wheres of any physical field participation of the trio should the circumstances arise. He rejoined his team as they were preparing for their traditional Thursday evening Movie Night (Bruce had selected the movie _Remember the Titans_ , his reasoning being that the team needed to remember that faith, hope and trust always won out in the end) and had wordlessly drawn Clint into a strong embrace. That Clint allowed, and actively returned, the embrace startled even Phil but no one actually voiced that surprise. Instead they shifted around in the pile of pillows and blankets until the pair could stay tucked together, the frightened Hawk needing the stalwart shelter the Captain’s arms promised while the scarred child of Clint’s psyche needed the protection of his hero.

Steve willingly offered up both for as long as Clint needed.

By the time the movie was finished, Clint had fallen asleep in Steve’s arms and been gently transferred into Tony’s, the engineer bedding down among the pillows and blankets for the night. Natasha and Kit appeared to have a silent debate as to who got to curl up against Clint’s chest, the Russian relenting after a few minutes and opting instead to curl with Bruce within touching distance of Clint’s head (she had learnt the hard way that the archer violently kicked during his nightmares). Steve retreated as far as the nearest sofa – sleeping on the wooden floor was starting to make him feel every one of his ninety-five years – while Phil departed for the quiet of his own apartment, leaving a StarkPad running the live security feed of Ashley and Zach propped up on the nearest hard surface in Clint and Natasha’s line of sight.

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered less than eight hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Irish Translation **
> 
> _Ár caomhnóir aingeal_ – Our guardian angel


	12. Chapter 12

As he was programmed, JARVIS woke the Avengers with a good morning, the local weather report, a list of any morning schedules he had been prompted to remember and the headlines, local, national and international. Friday morning proved to be no exception and, since all but Phil were present in the communal lounge, the AI had powered the TV to display _CNN_ and _NBC 4 New York_ on a split screen.

The main story on both channels was that a serial killer was operating on the streets of New York, the _CNN_ reporter apparently on the scene of one of the dumpsites in Harlem.

“JARVIS, she where she claims?” asked Clint, struggling up into a seating position.

“It appears so,” said JARVIS. “The background bares several similarities to one of the crime scene photographs you were examining yesterday morning.”

“They’re repeating dumpsites?” asked Steve.

“I cannot answer that, Captain,” said JARVIS. “I would surmise from the lack of police and CSI personnel, however, the chosen site for this report was not a recent disposal site.”

“So which bright spark made the link between multiple John and Jane Does in a city of over 8 million and serial killing?” asked Tony, his derision for the thought process clear in his tone.

“The information appears to have come from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner,” said JARVIS. “I cannot, however, say specifically who is responsible for it heading up as headline news.”

“Need an address, J,” said Tony.

“Available on your tablet, Sir,” said JARVIS. “Do you wish me to inform them of the impending visit?”

“I’ll make the call, JARVIS,” said Pepper as she hurried into the room with Phil, both looking ridiculously well put together for 0745 in the morning.

“And I’ll make the visit,” said Phil. “Agent Davis will be coming with me.”

“We need to brief Aaron,” said Clint. “He won’t let this go unlooked at.”

“A _look_ is all he gets,” said Phil, firmly. “ _Any_ of his team show up and they’ll be held at HQ for the duration of our remaining investigations.”

“What about Captain Edgerton and the Violent Crimes Squad?” asked Steve.

“Agent,” said Phil. “He hadn’t gone by Captain since ’93 and he won’t thank you for the reminder. And last report I had from Jasper, he’s been working with them the entire investigation.” Clint and Natasha hissed like angry cats at the news.

“Why?” the archer demanded.

“West coast has been a lot less covert about their investigation,” said Phil. “And it would look more suspicious if the FBI wasn’t working on a child trafficking case. Steve, I want you and Agent Rothman on the next available flight to LA.”

“That really a good idea?” asked Tony.

“If we manage it properly,” said Phil.

“Anything even _hints_ at putting the kids in danger and you get them to the House ASAP,” instructed Clint. “Kit, talk to Boxer and arrange a backup team.”

“On it,” said Kit, scrambling from the nest of blankets and darting for the elevator. Phil handed Steve a tablet.

“Full report on the West coast investigation,” he said.

“Does Agent Sitwell know we’re coming?” asked Steve.

“Yes,” said Phil. “He wasn’t happy about the alarm clock but he asked for you specifically.”

“And Agent Rothman?”

“Partly for her own safety,” said Phil. “But mainly because she speaks Arabic and Farsi – they have a couple of suspects that are doing their best to claim they don’t understand.”

“And who gets the lucky job of briefing Fury?” asked Tony as Steve departed.

“I will,” announced Agent Hill as she appeared from the stairwell. “When you’ve explained to me how the _hell_ _CNN_ and _NBC_ got hold of this!”

“JARIVS, a little warning would’ve been nice!” exclaimed Tony.

“My apologies, Sir,” said JARVIS. “But the sensors are not picking up AD Hill’s presence.”

“Strike two,” said Tony. “I do not appreciate being ambushed in my own home.”

“One,” said Hill. “If you are going to resort to being so petty. And I’m still waiting for my explanation.”

“Two,” corrected Clint. “Strike one would be the landing of your chopper on the Helipad _._ JARVIS, get them to move.”

“Already accomplished, Sir,” said JARVIS, the AI sounding smug. “And Director Fury is on the line.”

“Big screen, J,” ordered Tony, not at all concerned that he was in a fading t-shirt and sweats. “Fury, short answer to your question is – haven’t a clue.”

“But we’re working on it,” said Bruce.

“Care to give me details?” asked Fury.

“Captain Rogers and Agent Rothman are on the next flight to LA,” said Phil. “They’re going to coordinate with Sitwell’s team. Agent Davis and I are going to pay the Chief Medical Examiner a visit to find out how it was concluded the city had a serial killer. Agent Romanoff and Agent Marks will visit the offices of _CNN_ to ask about their sources while Mr Stark and Dr Banner will be doing the same at the _NBC_. Agent Barton will be contacting Quantico to brief Agent Hotchner and his team, impressing upon them all that their presence in New York will not be appreciated. Captain Campbell is currently liaising with Captain Boxer to supply suitable backup for Captain Rogers and the FBI should it be required.”

“Sounds like you’ve been planning for this, Agent Coulson,” said Fury with a wry smile.

“Yes, Sir,” said Phil. “I believe you specifically noted that on my transfer papers.”

“Agent Hill,” said Fury, turning to his second-in-command. “Care to explain why you’re at Stark Tower and not on the Helicarrier? And why you are making unauthorised use of an experimental piece of tech?”

“And that would be our cue to leave,” said Clint, standing up and looking to Pepper. The CEO of _StarkIndustries_ didn’t even wait for him to voice his question before she nodded.

“Phil and I will escort her out personally,” she said.

“One of the many reasons we count you both as Avengers,” said Clint in relief, kissing Pepper’s cheek before darting for the stairwell, Natasha on his heels while Bruce and Tony opted for the elevator.

“Agent Hill, I’m waiting,” prompted Fury.

* * *

**NBC Production Facilities, _Rockefeller Plaza, New York_**

Reporters, anchors, production staff and auxiliary staff all but fell over each other when Tony and Bruce arrived at the _NBC_ head office, despite the fact they had arrived as subtly as they could. Bruce had never liked the attention of the media and even Tony, who had courted the television cameras and the paparazzi since he was a child and had learned the hard way that it was easier to play up to the sound-bite hungry journalist than fight them, had little time for them that morning.

“We have a meeting,” Tony said to the first person who hadn’t approached them with a series of questions already spouting off their tongue. They looked to be around nineteen years old and the ID pass around their neck declared them to be a gofer.

“Who with?” asked the gofer.

“Michael Saracen, Cesara Rodriguez, Jonathan Torbay and whoever was the production manager for this morning’s broadcast,” said Tony.

“We also need to speak to whoever would have had contact with the CME,” said Bruce.

“Sandy you are not paid to stand around gawking at celebrities!” snapped a voice from behind the group. The gofer startled and made to bolt but Bruce gently caught her arm.

“Can you help us?” he asked. Sandy looked torn between nodding and bolting, the tray of coffees in her hand clearly intended for someone much higher up the food chain.

“Sandy, if you don’t get your ass back to stage B now, so help me your days here are numbered,” said the voice again, the speaker pushing themselves through the crowd to stand in front of Tony and Bruce.

“Sonya Jefferson,” she introduced herself, hand outstretched in greeting. “Technical Director for the early bird slots. How can I help you gentlemen?”

“By making yourself disappear,” said Tony looking at the still proffered hand in disdain. “Sandy, Bruce and I will manage fine on our own.”

“I’m afraid Sandy has other duties to perform,” said Jefferson, looking to the gofer with a glare of rebuke. Bruce continued to hold the young woman’s shoulder while Tony removed the tray of coffee and handed them over to the TD.

“I believe her job includes supporting anyone who needs help,” Tony said. “At the moment, that would be me and Dr Banner. Since you are clearly done with your regular job, you can act as gofer for the interim. Now, Sandy, you know where we can find the people we mentioned a few minutes ago?”

“Mr Saracen will be on stage C,” said Sandy. “He’s covering for one of the anchors who called in sick this morning. I think Ms Rodriguez and Mr Torbay are talking to the researchers two floors up. They both like to have all the information they can on the big stories.”

“And this morning’s PA?” asked Tony.

“Still in the gallery,” said Sandy. “The gallery team works on four six four segments then spend the next three preparing for their next.”

“Any idea when they’ll finish?” asked Tony.

“Around three?” said Sandy, sounding unsure of her answer. “I can find out for definite once I’ve shown you wherever you want to go.”

“I think we’ll try Ms Rodriguez and Mr Torbay first,” said Bruce.

“OK,” agreed Sandy. “You need to sing in with reception then I’ll take you up.”

* * *

“Should I be honoured or concerned that you’ve asked for me personally, Mr Stark?” asked Rodriguez when Sandy had introduced them.

“Neither,” said Tony. “Because it won’t get me the answers I need and I’d honestly rather not be here. The main story you carried this morning: whose idea was it to carry it and who’s your source?”

“Now, Mr Stark, you of all people should know that a journalist doesn’t give up their sources,” said Rodriguez.

“We know it’s someone inside either the OCME or NYPD,” said Tony. “Because SHIELD is not stupid enough to splash this over the news.”

“You sure about that one?” asked Rodriguez.

“Yes,” said Bruce. “Because there is a lot more to this than you realise.”

“Oh, do tell,” said Rodriguez, leaning forward in interest.

“No,” said Bruce, firmly. “Because that would put countless more at risk.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, gentlemen,” said Rodriguez. Tony and Bruce gifted the anchor with an expression of disgust before the stood and moved in the direction of Torbay, the investigative reporter deep in conversation with someone over the phone.

“…… me soon as you have anything more,” he said before hanging up as Tony settled in front of him. “Mr Stark, my answer is the same as Cesara’s – I will not give up my source. You’re lucky if I do that for a court order and it keeps me in business.”

“All we need is an acronym,” said Tony. “NYPD or OCME?”

“And if I said neither?” asked Torbay, folding his arms.

“I’d expect you to point me towards the right haystack,” said Tony. “We can do the actual needle hunting ourselves.”

“And this is of interest to you because……” said Torbay. “Mass murder is hardly a topic raised at board meetings.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” said Tony. “But no – I don’t give freebies anymore. My husband gets a little upset with the idea and my father-in-law is just looking for an excuse to taze me. Haystack?”

“I don’t give freebies either, Mr Stark,” said Torbay. “It don’t matter who’s asking.”

* * *

**Office of the Chief Medical Examiner _, First Avenue, New York_**

At 0945 prompt, Phil and Agent Davis arrived at the office of Dr Harrison Grolsch, Davis armed with his notebook and Phil with a list of question. As usual, Phil’s strict bearing that screamed his military service, coupled with his charcoal-grey suit that spoke of someone in a position of authority, had people springing to accommodate him. The two men were shown into the correct office, offered a tea or coffee, informed Dr Grolsch would be with them momentarily and then left alone.

Dr Grolsch arrived at 0953, looking a little harried, his tie slightly askew and crows-feet of stress already pinching around his eyes. In his arms, he carried a cardboard archive box that he set down on his desk before thrusting a hand out to greet Phil and Davis.

“Apologies for my delay gentlemen,” said Grolsch. “I understand you have questions about this morning’s headline?”

“We do,” said Davis. “What made you conclude there is a serial killer operating in New York?”

“Well, the city does have a population of eight million,” said Grolsch. “And there are, on average, twenty serial killers at work across this country at any given time.”

“Dr Reid will appreciate that someone actually listens to his lectures,” said Phil. “However, we are more concerned with this specific case.”

“Well, all the victims are of Middle Eastern origin,” said Grolsch.

“Not extraction?” asked Phil.

“Not according to the isotopic tests we carried out on their wisdom teeth,” said Grolsch. “All except two of the victims had been in the Middle East until a few months ago. They’re all between the age of eleven and seventeen and had suffered varying extremes of physical abuse and neglect, right until the point of death.”

“But why the conclusion of serial killing?” asked Davis. “Most serial offenders have a specific type – age, race, gender, hair colour, eye colour. These victims only have their race in common and no predator is that flexible in their preferences, especially with children.”

“We are a little more thorough than that,” said Grolsch, looking slightly affronted at the accusation of being anything else. “While neglect, malnutrition and abuse may have contributed to their deaths, an analysis of their blood found a unique chemical compound. It appears in different concentrations in each victim but its presence in each body is what had me draw the serial killer conclusion.”

“I’d like a copy of that analysis,” said Phil. “Including chemical name and molecular structure. Have any more of the bodies been identified?”

“Couple of the male victims,” said Grolsch, pulling out two blue file jackets and handing them to Phil. “One found in Harlem twenty days ago – finally IDed as Behnam Niazi. He’s approximately thirteen years old and had been dead roughly six days before he was found. Second one is Malik Haddad. Fifteen years old, found in the Bronx and had been dead for five days before being found seventeen days ago. Isotopic analysis would suggest that Haddad is of Iraqi origin and Niazi is Afghani.”

“Which database gave the ID?” asked Phil, glancing at the crime scene photograph.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” said Grolsch.

“Yeah, we shorten that to SHIELD,” said Phil. “It’s less of a mouthful.”

“It’s certainly that,” said Grolsch. “Anyway, the six IDs we’ve been able to make are all from that database but wherever it’s stored, the transmission must be terrible because the data is coming in bits and pieces. That’s why it’s taking so long to get all twenty-five of these kids IDed.”

“Twenty- _five_?” repeated Davis.

“Another two males have been found in the Bronx,” said Grolsch. “Two females in Harlem and another in Brooklyn. Are you still going to question my serial killer conclusion?”

“No,” said Phil. “Though I’m curious as to why you thought it necessary to inform the general populous.”

“I didn’t,” said Grolsch. “However, there have been upwards of twenty people involved directly with this case and any one of them may have drawn the same conclusion.”

“But aren’t they supposed to report that conclusion to you?” asked Davis.

“Yes,” said Grolsch. “However, when you have over twenty teenagers – a majority of which are female – turning up dead under such horrific circumstances, some people find themselves morally obligated to let the public know. It is, after all, easier to easier to ask forgiveness than permission and one person is certainly easier than an entire population.”

“Let’s hope the wisdom of Grace Hopper does not come back to haunt us on this occasion,” said Phil, standing up. “I’d like to be informed when you find your mole.”

“It may be a case of _if_ rather than _when_ ,” said Grolsch. “But I’ll do my best. The Mayor has authorised me to give you a copy of the files are for your investigation but he asks that you return them when you’re done.”

“And he couldn’t authorise an electronic version because……” said Davis even as he took the archive box from the table.

“This way, we can control the number of copies and therefore the number of people accessing what is technically confidential information,” replied Grolsch.

“And I requested the format,” said Phil. “There is only so long Hawkeye can focus on a computer screen before things start becoming projectile weapons.”

“So he marries the most prolific technophile of the last century?” asked Davis in amusement as Grolsch escorted them from the office. Phil chuckled.

“As with their tastes in music,” he said. “Their wedding vows had nothing to do with changing their opinions on various things, only that they would accept that the other is usually wrong.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Phil, Cap-Agent Edgerton would like me to inform you he is now ‘in the market’ for a new best friend,” said Steve when he made contact with the Avengers later that evening. Marks grinned while Phil raised an eyebrow.

“He tell you why?” he asked curiously, though he could probably guess.

“Agent Rothman had been attempting to throw her weight around the investigation,” said Steve. “And she apparently doesn’t have a brilliant relationship with Agent Granger.”

“Tell Ian I’ll call him later to grovel,” said Phil. “Sitwell read you in?”

“More than,” said Steve. “Where’d you want me to start?”

“We have anything that will link the two investigations?” asked Phil. Steve nodded.

“Götze,” he said. “Apparently he was responsible for updating their computer security back in 2015. From what Sitwell was told, there was a four day period back in June 2015 where the Port of Los Angeles lost 50% of their manifests from their mainframe. Naturally, it caused severe logistical and financial problems and resulted in the entire mainframe being overhauled while the entire management level was held responsible and subsequently replaced. Götze was brought in on an emergency contract and asked to provide them with the same security system as given to Port Newark-Elizabeth.”

“Chances of Mostovoi being responsible?” asked Clint.

“Creating the demand in order to supply the solution?” mused Steve. “It’s very likely – 90% of the missing material was found during Götze’s overhaul. And, of course, there hasn’t been any resembling the attack since Götze was called in.”

“At the risk of insulting Professor Epps,” said Tony. “I want a copy of that code. And the one used at Port Newark-Elizabeth.”

“I don’t think Charlie’s going to be insulted, Tony,” said Steve with a small smile. “Poor man was going cross-eyed last I saw him. His wife will certainly appreciate the help.”

“Any of the longshoremen link up?” asked Marks. Steve shook his head.

“They’re transient but that doesn’t mean they cross the country,” he said. “Couple of operations directors did recognise Ahmed Ridha though.”

“In what capacity?” asked Phil.

“Businessmen,” said Steve. “Remember we’d linked him to being a client of Mostovoi’s. Well, apparently he likes to be very hands-on with every aspect of his business ventures and would appear once a month – the second Tuesday between 9am and 11am – to inspect anything from the cargo containers to the crew of the inbound ships to the actual location of his cargo once it was on land.”

“And nobody thought that odd?” asked Tony. Steve shook his head.

“Ridha is in his sixties and gave every impression of being an eccentric,” said the Captain. “Since it was only ever his own cargo he wanted to inspect, the ops directors thought it easier just to indulge him.”

“Permission denied, Hawk,” Phil said sharply, apropos to nothing. Steve, Tony and Marks looked between asset and handler in concerned curiosity while Clint slouched back in his seat in what appeared to be a sulk.

“Ah, for those of us who haven’t mastered telepathy?” prompted Tony.

“He’s forming a plan to show the Operational Directors the error of their thinking,” said Phil. “Hawk, remember what I said about Cassano? The same applies here: we can _not_ hold people responsible for falling for the ruse the way they were meant to, no matter how much we like the idea of doing otherwise. Steve, has there been the same recording of John and/or Jane Does as New York?”

“Eighteen,” said Steve. “We’ve got an ID on three.”

“Get someone to authorise a copy of the files,” said Phil. “And have the ME check their blood for any unusual compounds. I’ve sent you and Sitwell the companion – all twenty-five bodies here have had the compound in their systems when they died.”

“Will do,” said Steve. “Any idea what the compound is?”

“Not as such,” said Phil. “But going by who we’re purportedly dealing with, I’d say it’s a variant on Dr Erskine’s formula.”

“I’ll have them run a comparison against my blood,” said Steve. “Do you need the actual source or just the report to do the same at that end?”

“Report’s will be fine,” said Tony. “Just make sure they include the molecular structure.”

“And I’ll see if Natasha will give the same,” said Phil. “Her blood might give a better comparison.”

“About that,” said Marks, shifting uncomfortably and glad that he was on the opposite side of the table from Clint. “Romanoff was given a version of the super-soldier serum back in ’79 right?”

“According to the reports, yes,” said Phil.

“Well it clearly worked,” said Marks. “Why is Red Room still working on this nearly forty years down the line?”

“Because even Natasha isn’t the perfect specimen Captain America turned out to be,” said Phil and had the situation not been so fraught, Tony and Clint would have needled the Agent about his sycophantic phrasing. As it was, neither really noticed, the archer finding the need to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady while Tony gave Marks and Steve the information they were clearly missing.

“Dr Anton Yartsev was the Jack of Spades,” Tony said, Phil having shown the engineer the series of playing cards, twenty-seven of which were blood stained along the top border, which Clint had been given to identify his targets back in November ’98. When Phil had explained the significance of the blood stains, Tony made a point of having JARVIS scan the twenty-five unblemished cards and have the images loaded into the facial recognition programme in the Iron Man suits.

“Pyotr Tarasov was the Jack of Clubs and Ivan Zhirkov was the King of Diamonds.”

“And as with Dr Erskine, their deaths meant the loss of a substantial volume of research on the subject,” said Phil. “That we pulled Tasha out of Red Room’s research helped cripple their project further.”

“And dropped _this_ on us instead,” said Clint, his voice dropping to a snarl. “I _told_ Creswell, I told Suárez, hell I even told _Fury_ that mission was badly planned but did anyone listen to me? Of course they didn’t – why would anyone listen to the guy on the ground?”

“Easy, Hawk,” soothed Phil, reaching out to lay a hand on Clint’s balled fists. “That’s why the parameters changed when I got there.”

“Damage was already done,” growled Clint. “Twenty-seven kills and in return I’ve got the blood of at least forty-four innocents on my hands!”

“And I share it,” said Phil, not releasing Clint’s hands as he looked back to Steve, Tony and Marks.

“Steve, you got anything else you need to report immediately?”

“No,” said Steve. Phil nodded once and stood, pulling Clint up with him.

“Excuse us,” he said and, with an uncompromising hand on the small of Clint’s back, left the War Room. Their three companions watched them go in concern.

“What I miss?” asked Steve. Tony shook his head.

“There are a hell of a lot of redactions in his file,” he said. “And I can’t get him to talk about them.”

“He does do a lot of Spec-Ops,” reminded Steve.

“Spec-Ops he talks about,” said Tony. “Even gives me access to the files. The redactions freak him out.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” said Steve.

“Ah, that a good idea?” asked Marks, his conversation with Phil regarding the still healing wounds both handler and his charges were still carrying from Grozny coming back to mind.

“Clint can be angry with us afterwards,” said Tony. “I’d rather my husband _didn’t_ end up going off the deep end because of this.”

“Fair enough,” said Marks, gathering his notebook up and, with a nod, left Tony and Steve to their conversation which was becoming decidedly more personal as Steve broke into a grin.

“Much to his Papa’s bemusement,” said the Captain. “Casey wants to talk to Uncle Tony about his school project. Apparently they’ve been studying robots.”

“I did notice that wasn’t a hotel room in the background,” said Tony with a small chuckle. “Alright, put him on.”

* * *

“Do I need to remind you that you turned fifty-nine last month?” asked Thom as he strapped a frozen gel pack to Phil’s shoulder cusp before moving to examine the tender area over his left kidney.

“No,” said Phil with a quickly supressed flinch when Thom pressed against the already developing bruise pattern. “My body is currently telling me that.”

“So the reason you were brawling with Clint ’til one in the morning?” asked Thom.

“Demons and nightmares,” said Phil.

“Yours or his?” asked Thom.

“Both,” said Phil.

“Guess that explains why you both ignored the common sense idea of a punching bag or using a sparring partner better matched to your ability,” said Thom, carefully feeling his way across Phil’s lower back and noting each one of the man’s supressed flinches.

“I’m not that out of shape,” said Phil. “And we were wearing armour.”

“Never said you were,” said Thom. “But Clint’s armour is designed specifically for him and Tony makes a point of sparring with him while they’re both suited up. The armour responds faster to him than the borrowed piece you were using and he’s used to the additional weight it puts into his punches and as strong and form-fitting as the armour _is_ , there is still enough room for you to rattle around inside.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that,” said Phil.

“Can you talk to me about it?” asked Thom, snagging a couple more frozen gel packs and placing them against Phil’s kidney before encouraging the man to lay back against the packs.

“Depends on what you want to know,” said Phil.

“Why is generally a good place to start,” said Thom, moving back so he was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Phil, his hand moving instinctively to take the man’s pulse. Phil rolled his head to give his son a slightly mournful smile.

“What do you remember from February ’99?” he asked. Thom cocked his head.

“Mike Tyson got sent to jail for assault,” he said. “Mr Jeffries spent a whole week moaning about the fact Pluto had moved from eighth to ninth planet in the solar system. Mom broke her arm when Ranger pulled her over in the park chasing after a squirrel. You didn’t let me come up to New York on the weekends – said that Mom needed my help and you were going out the country anyway. But you back after a week or so and you still didn’t let me come up. Who were you protecting me from?”

“Who?” asked Phil. “Not what?”

“You were Army ’til I was ten, I’d seen you busted up on several occasions by that time,” reminded Thom. “Including the eight-day coma that preceded your discharge. So, yeah, _who_ were you protecting me from?”

“Myself,” said Phil, rolling his head back to stare at his apartment ceiling. Thom blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“The reason I was out of the country was because Agent Isaac Creswell had screwed up an Op so badly that my asset was kidnapped, physically and psychologically tortured and came within _hours_ of walking through Death’s door,” said Phil.

“That why Clint doesn’t go into the field with anyone else watching his back?” asked Thom.

“I didn’t make it home to shower and change before I was marching into Nick’s office and demanding that he assign us a designated pair,” said Phil. “Meant the only way we could work separately was if one of us volunteered for the assignment and nothing could be a permanent move.”

“Bet that pissed a few people off,” said Thom with a small chuckle.

“Thom, you know how I feel about him. You really think I cared about what other people thought?” said Phil, rolling his head back to look at Thom again.

“Hey, I got a husband outta the deal,” said Thom, moving to unstrap the gel pack from around Phil’s shoulder and exam the swelling. “I’m not gonna complain. But, I’m still missing why I needed protected.”

“Clint was still in Landstuhl when I got back,” said Phil. “Doctors refused to OK his travel and Nick threatened to have me physically removed back to the US if I stayed any longer – the Directorate were demanding answers and heads about the mission and why Tasha was in custody with minor wounds rather than taking up a mortuary slab with a bullet through her skull.”

“And you didn’t react well to the separation,” surmised Thom, rewrapping Phil’s shoulder with a fresh gel pack. Phil shook his head.

“They told me I was grieving and that I was swinging between the stages of regret and anger,” he said. “Nick signed me off on medical leave and Ian and Dave took what leave they could to make sure my head stayed on straight but I gave them hell in thanks.”

“Something I’m sure they commiserated over but wore each bruise with pride even as they came back for more,” said Thom. “Don’t look at me like that, you have this way of inspiring loyalty in people and you’ve got your work cut out for you if you want to try convincing even _one_ of them that such fealty isn’t worth it. Clint wasn’t back in the US until the April was he?”

“How’d you work that out?” asked Phil.

“Uncle Dave was still hanging around,” said Thom with a shrug. “I distinctly remember him lamenting your skills in the kitchen and being particularly appalled by the idea that you couldn’t make a proper lasagne.”

“’s what I get for making friends with an Italian Marine,” said Phil with a slightly choked sounding laugh. “Ian had somehow managed to wrangle being Clint’s personal escort home from Germany and Dave was determined he was gonna get enough of an excuse not to pull a similar stunt.”

“And how close is that looking at the moment?” asked Thom. “For either of you.”

“It worries me that I have no idea,” said Phil, his voice quiet as if he didn’t wish Thom to hear his fear. Thom smiled weakly at his father and rested a hand on his upper arm.

“I’m not thirteen anymore,” he said. “You need help, you ask for it and I’ll do everything I can.”

“Thanks,” said Phil, returning the weak smile. Thom squeezed the arm he was holding before turning his attention back to Phil’s back.

“We’ll do one more round with the gel packs,” he said, switching out the melted packs for fresh ones as he spoke. “Then I think a hot bath and decent night’s sleep are in order. That sound good to you?”

“Sounds like heaven,” said Phil. Thom chuckled lightly before slipping away to start the water while Phil became lost in tracing patterns on his stippled ceiling, his thoughts dancing between the disastrous mission to Grozny and the one his assets were at risk of drowning in once more.


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce was concerned.

No, scratch that – Bruce was quickly moving past ‘concerned’ and branching into outright alarm. He was relieved that Natasha was no longer watching Ashley and Zach with the same zealous attention that she had been in the days following their mission assignment (Bruce was firmly of the opinion that Kit and his team were responsible for her relaxing in that regard) but in exchange Natasha was now doing her best to forego sleep.

The scientist knew that Natasha would be able to cope with a couple lost nights – it was something that all SHIELD Field Agents had been trained to cope with and Natasha’s Red Room background and augmented DNA meant she passed that physical assessment with ease – but the assassin was verging on a week with barely more the two or three hours sleep a night. She divided her time between putting various security personnel through their paces, pulling field work hours for the investigation, carrying out her own training regime and pouring over the ever increasing pile of Intel that the various lines of enquiry were producing.

Her current focus was the recorded interrogations of the six men whom SHIELD continued to hold in their custody (JARVIS had downloaded the material from the tablet AD Hill had been carrying when she made her unwelcome visit on Friday morning). Clint and Marks worked alongside her, the archer sporting a couple of broken fingers and a bruised rib from his sparring session with Phil two nights previously. Where normally Bruce was pleased that Clint was able to anchor Natasha (and Tony was relieved that Natasha was able to do the same for Clint) Bruce couldn’t help but feel that on this occasion, the symbiotic relationship between the two assassins was part of the problem not the solution. Unfortunately, the scientist was drawing a blank when it came to thinking up an alternative or even how to broach the subject with Phil, it being a well-established fact that being able to actively care and support someone kept _Clint_ from going off the rails.

“Don’t work against her,” said Pepper as she appeared at the physicist’s elbow. Bruce slumped against the doorjamb, crossing his arms across his chest as he did so.

“I don’t want her hurt,” he said quietly.

“I know,” said Pepper. “But trying to cosset her away in a box of cotton wool and marked fragile will cause her to rebel.”

“Leading to a potentially more severe injury,” sighed Bruce. “But I to do _something_ , Pepper. She’s barely sleeping and I’m not completely convinced she’d eating beyond the communal meal. I know she had biology on her side but even she’s got a breaking point and all I’m seeing is her starting to run on fumes.”

“Have you tried getting Clint on your side?” asked Pepper. Bruce looked between Pepper and the pair of assassins who were still engrossed in the files.

“How will that help?” he asked, waving towards the pair. “He’s currently her main co-conspirator.”

“In doing so, he can keep an eye on her,” said Pepper.

“But that doesn’t allow her to think about anything else,” said Bruce. “Least of all herself!”

“Do you honestly see her being able to do anything else?” asked Tony as he appeared beside the pair, nodding once in satisfaction when he saw Clint avidly watching one of the Helicarrier based interrogations, plotting something on the tablet in front him as he did so.

“She’s not being given the chance,” said Bruce, his voice sharp.

“So think of a reason to get her away from the Tower,” said Tony. “While she’s here, the mission is all she’s going to be thinking about. Take her away – with a legitimate reason – and she’ll relax. At least for a few days.”

“The same way Clint has?” asked Bruce.

“Exactly like Clint did,” said Tony. “He went to Virginia with a genuine reason but I’m pretty sure playing poker with the Marines helped him blow off a little steam.”

“And what would you suggest, oh wise one?” asked Bruce.

“Niko,” said Tony. “Kid is going home tomorrow and with Kit staying here, I’m pretty sure Thom with appreciate the company. I know Niko will be over the moon if he’s personally escorted home by his hero.”

“She won’t go for that,” said Bruce, watching as Natasha re-watched the same minute of footage three times, the scowl on her face deepening each time. Pepper smiled lightly.

“She will if Clint and Thom phrase the request right,” she said. With that, and a gentle press of reassurance against Bruce’s forearm, Pepper turned for the elevator, leaving Tony and Bruce to watch their respective partners.

“In the meantime,” said Tony. “You either go help them with dissecting those tapes beyond recognition or you come help me go cross-eyed over Götze’s security code. I swear the guy is making up his own language.”

“And the reason I can’t do that in there?” asked Bruce, nodding to the half-dozen empty spaces at the conference table.

“I need music,” said Tony. “And Clint can’t work with most of the stuff I play.”

“Tony, I’m still trying to working out how _you_ work to most of what you choose,” said Bruce with a small chuckle. “Clint, I sympathise with.”

“Heathens!” declared Tony, pushing his tablet into Bruce’s hands. “I am surrounded by uneducated heathens!”

* * *

“I do not agree this is good idea,” Natasha stated later that evening when Thom and Clint presented Tony’s idea to her.

“You gonna tell us why?” asked Thom.

“There is much Intel to examine,” said Natasha.

“And there’s still at least six people here to do that,” said Clint.

“Is not all in English,” said Natasha.

“No,” agreed Clint. “But I do speak Spanish, Italian, German, Dari, Russian, Irish and Norwegian to some level of fluency.”

“Where the hell’d you pick up Norwegian?” asked Thom in bemusement.

“Selvig,” said Clint with a chuckle. “Is as bad as Tony when on to a break of some sort. Would start babbling Norwegian when he’d been awake for too long so I figured it safer to learn so I could stop him spouting secrets.”

“And you were bored with guard duty,” said Thom. Clint shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said. “Tasha, Bruce is right – you need a few days away from here to get your focus back.”

“That, I have not lost,” argued Natasha.

“You have,” said Clint, reaching out to gather Natasha’s hands in his own. “We’re getting tunnel vision and while I can get release attempting to beat the hell out of Phil or shooting paper targets into ribbons, you don’t have the same options.”

“And sending me to play babysitter with Bruce and Dr Coulson is the best alternative you can come up with?” demanded Natasha.

“Yes!” snapped Clint. “Because nineteen years ago I promised that you would get a better life if you followed me home. I then spent the next seventeen hours listening to you doing your best to convince yourself that you deserved what I was offering. Part of the deal was that you find a life outside being a SHIELD operative and this is the best option you’ve got right now.”

“And if I said no?” asked Natasha. Clint’s gaze shuttered and he dropped her hands.

“I will have the Director make it an order,” he said before spinning on his heel and leaving the room. Thom looked uncomfortably between the door and Natasha.

“Do I tell Bruce I’m going solo?” he asked. Natasha took a deep breath and shook her head.

“We will accompany you,” she said, standing up. “But first there is something I must do.”

“Then I’ll see you at breakfast,” said Thom. With a small nod, Natasha left the room, heading in the opposite direction from Clint. Thom groaned and flopped back on to the sofa scrubbing a hand over his face. He startled when an arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him into a solid wall of heat and the light scent of black mint.

“You OK?” Kit asked. His answer was another groan and Thom trying to curl into his side.

“Switch jobs with you tomorrow?” Thom asked.

“Sure,” said Kit. “Soon as I’m up to speed with all of Niko’s medical needs and you can match my scores on the range and mats.”

“Urgh!” was Thom’s considered response to the tiny nugget of common sense his husband was providing. Kit chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of Thom’s head, wrapping his arms tighter around the younger man.

“I take it Tasha’s going with you but under loud protest?” said Kit. Thom nodded against his shoulder.

“I think she’s gonna try bringing some of the mission with her,” he said. “Which is gonna defeat the entire purpose of her leaving New York for a few days.”

“Don’t fight her on it,” said Kit. “We all need a security blanket at some point. Least this way she’ll have the option of whether to work or not.”

“Which’ll be safer for everyone,” said Thom with a sigh. “You ever wonder what a civilian life would be like?”

“Yeah,” said Kit with a small chuckle. “But then I look up the word in the dictionary and I get presented with this image of us bored out our minds and taking up hobbies like skydiving or free climbing in order to get the adrenaline buzz we currently get pair to experience. Besides, I seriously doubt I would’ve met you if we’d both stayed away from SHIELD.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’d have found another coffee shop to crash into each other in,” said Thom with a chuckle of his own.

“Romantic,” said Kit with a grin. Thom returned the expression and untangled himself from Kit, pulling them both to their feet.

“I leave for six days in less than twelve hours,” he said. “Let me show you how romantic I can be.”

“Like I’m gonna say no to that,” said Kit, tugging Thom close to claim a kiss before leading the way to the bedroom.

* * *

Niko, true to Tony’s prediction, was delighted that Bruce and Natasha were going to provide him with an escort home. His parents were embarrassed by the offer and had tried persuading the two Avengers that the company was not needed. Natasha, despite her protests the night before (and the poisonous glare she had sent Clint over the breakfast table) had taken Mrs Jefferson’s arm and led the way to the elevator already explaining away the excursion. Bruce had scooped Niko into his arms and listened to his energetic babbling while a slightly stunned Mr Jefferson and a grinning Thom followed with the more delicate of Niko’s medical equipment.

“Take the scenic route back,” said Phil, meeting the group on Level 2 and handing Thom the keys to one of the SHIELD SUVs. “I’d rather have you late but with your heads on right than early and acting like a loose cannon.”

“Loose cannon?” repeated Niko, looking at his adult company with curiosity.

“Like Wheeljack,” said Bruce.

“Oh,” said Niko in understanding. “Yeah, that’s bad.”

He turned in Bruce’s arms so he was able to see Phil properly and, looking very sombre for a ten-year-old, said “I’ll make sure The Hulk and Miss Widow come back OK.”

“You’ll help make sure I get Bruce and Natasha back Ok too?” asked Phil with a small smile. Niko nodded and unwrapped one arm from around Bruce’s neck to offer Phil a salute that the SHIELD Agent gently corrected then returned.

“Make me proud, soldier,” Phil charged before nodding to Bruce and Thom, shaking Mr Jefferson’s hand and moving to speak briefly to Natasha.

That had been six hours and 180 miles ago and Bruce and Natasha was now safely ensconced in the spare bedroom of Thom’s apartment, the radio playing quietly in the background as Bruce gently ran a brush through his lover’s hair that had still to regain its fiery shine. Natasha leaned her temple against Bruce’s knee, playing with the torn hem of her jeans, her thought as scattered as the stars that were starting to peek out against the night sky.

“Do you need a compass?” Bruce asked quietly.

“For what?” asked Natasha, her voice as far away as her thoughts.

“Finding your way home,” said Bruce.

“And if I don’t feel safe to do that?” asked Natasha.

“Tell me what sign posts to follow so I can join you,” said Bruce. “I don’t want you to suffer alone.”

“It is best I do,” said Natasha. “I had twenty years to kill the Mostovoi sons and instead of doing so I followed every order and have allowed them to corrupt others.”

“There is a big difference between Stockholm Syndrome and self-preservation,” said Bruce, tugging Natasha up to join him on the bed so he could cradle her to him.

“Assassin is not form of self-preservation,” argued Natasha. Bruce shook his head.

“When your other option is to die,” he said. “It’s self-preservation. It is a soldier’s duty to follow orders and an actors to entertain. That you’re sitting here with me says you did both to the best of your ability and I will always be grateful for that.”

“You are sure you do not see act now?” asked Natasha. Bruce nodded.

“Very sure,” he said. “Because neither Clint nor Phil are surprised by the way you are acting. Helping Mostovoi now will only get you killed and no one will make it an easy death. And even the greatest method actor in the world will drop character eventually.”

“For man with your past, you trust the strangest of people,” said Natasha. Bruce chuckled, through the sound was not completely mirthful.

“Other Guy is part bloodhound,” he said. “Learnt the hard way that people smell different when they lie.”

“And he knows what my lies smell like?” asked Natasha.

“Like heated gunmetal and cordite,” said Bruce. “That’s not what he’s scenting now.”

“And you know that to be the truth?” asked Natasha. Bruce smiled lightly and kissed the top of her head.

“Moya zhar-ptitsa,” he said. “The first conversation we had, you smelt more of the gunmetal and cordite than the hemp mats and mothballed muslin that surrounded us. Oddly enough, the first time I caught you telling the truth was in the middle of battle when you expressed confusion to something Tony said. Aniseed and masala chai.”

“My truths smell like the tea you always drink?” asked Natasha, her tone disbelieving. Bruce strengthened his embrace again.

“Your truth smells like peace,” he said. “Please, let me help you find your own again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translation **
> 
> _Moya zhar-ptitsa _\- my fire-bird__


	15. Chapter 15

Sixty-eight hours after Bruce and Natasha’s departure, Ahmed Ridha’s sixty-three years finally made themselves known and the Yemen-born businessman started to cooperate with his SHIELD captors in exchange for a moderately more comfortable cell (which mainly meant a slightly better quality mattress and a thicker blanket but both parties were counting things as a success in their favour). The man hadn’t quite started singing like the proverbial canary but the details he did give up were enough to solidly link both the western and eastern seaboard cases and the six men who were in SHIELD custody. Ridha wasn’t saying anything about the two men in FBI custody in LA (one Tariq Johnstone, a longshoreman originally from San Diego and Zai Summers, a freelance photojournalist based in San Francisco) but with Johnstone and Summers being detained approximately 3000 miles away and there being in excess of 1000 people ultimately involved with the LA Port Authority, even Fury had to admit to that being a long shot, regardless of Ridha’s travel movements.

“Are any of the other even _hinting_ at something that backs his claims up?” asked Steve over the video link. “Because, as much as we aren’t running this by the regular version of the book, I’d still like more than the bribed word of a sixty-three-year-old that other people have happily termed eccentric.”

“Less than a week away from us and he’s already going native,” said Tony. Steve chuckled.

“Old habits die hard, Tony,” he said. “ _Do_ we have anything beyond Ridha’s confession?”

“Does a body language analysis count?” asked Clint.

“It’s a largely debunked myth that people look a certain way when they’re lying,” said Rothman dismissively, Davis nodding his agreement from the opposite side of the conference table.

“Not what I was talking about,” said Clint. “But I’ll be sure to pass your opinions on to Special Agents Rossi and Morgan.”

“Hawk,” said Steve in mild rebuke. Clint met his gaze unflinchingly. “Myth or not, I want to hear the theory.”

“Captain, you can’t be serious!” protested Rothman. Steve looked at her in obvious annoyance.

“He’s called Hawk for a reason and very little of it has to do with a flashy circus show,” he said. He turned back to Clint. “What you got, son?”

“Cassano is scared out of his mind,” said Clint. “He’s jumpy, appears intimidated by SHIELD and looks like he hasn’t slept properly in the last week at _least_. He’s definitely had contact with Götze and Sanchez but whereas he considers himself something of an equal to Sanchez, he’s intimidated – if not downright terrified – of Götze.”

“You can tell that from his body language?” asked Steve.

“And what he’s saying,” Clint said. “He doesn’t seem bothered by questions about Sanchez – actually looks kinda smug that he’s been caught as well and what answers he gives are in Italian. Götze gets mentioned and it’s like he wants to hide – he becomes quiet, tucks in on himself, repeatedly checks both the camera and the door and appears to make a point of speaking clear English.”

“And that has you conclude he’s scared of Götze?” asked Marks. “Shouldn’t the languages be the other way around if that’s the case?”

“Not if Götze doesn’t speak Italian,” said Clint. “Sanchez – he doesn’t care what gets repeated, half of what he’s spouting is a string of insults and the languages are similar enough that Sanchez would at least get the gist of what’s being said, but with Götze it’s like he’s making sure he can say he never gave anything away.”

“What about the others?” asked Phil, making a note to have Hernandez focus a little more attention on getting Cassano to crack.

“Van Coomb is a cocky bastard,” replied Clint. “Same as Nadar. Neither of them appear interested in the photos they’re shown, the questions they’re asked or the descriptions and surmises of the evidence against them. Neither looks any worse for wear despite their prolonged incarceration. It’s almost like they’re waiting for SHIELD to give up and release them.

“Sanchez is a little more confident that Cassano but not by much. Same as Cassano, he makes a point of speaking English when saying something about Götze but is happy to run his mouth in Spanish about anyone else. One phrase does stick out though – _Señor, perdona a tu hijo_. Lord, forgive your son. I think he agreed to help but has balked on the whole idea now he knows the full story and is now doing his best to save face. Götze is Mostovoi’s Lieutenant and Ridha is as good as dead since his words were so easily bought.”

“Nearly a month of interrogation is easily bought?” asked Davis, blinking in surprise.

“He’s basically rolled over on his companions for an extra blanket and a softer mattress,” said Clint. “I’m not sure what else you’d call that.”

“I’ll make sure Hernandez is aware,” said Phil, not allowing anyone to form an answer to Clint’s statement. Steve looked thoughtful over Clint’s analysis while Tony sat looking smug. Marks’ expression was carefully neutral as he made his own notes from Clint’s conclusions while Davis looked highly sceptical of the entire thing and Rothman was completely unable to hold back her scathing opinion.

“This is exactly the kind of CSI-effect our legal system has had to deal with since _CBS_ started its slew of procedural cop shows!” she exclaimed. “You _cannot_ tell that volume of detail from a very close, almost staged environment.”

“Yes,” said Clint, obviously clenching his teeth. “You can. Because what I’ve mentioned has been going on for the last two-and-a-half weeks. I’m not talking about random one-offs, I’m talking patterns of behaviour and the conclusions I’ve just told you have been double checked by the best in the Bureau. Cap, I can’t tell you their actual thoughts but what I can tell you is if any of the guys you have in custody are less than 100% confident – to the point of arrogance – and suddenly change their pattern of speech, be it tone, annunciation, language or clarity, following a specific line of questioning, they are unlikely to know everything of what they’re involved in.”

“Anything that links at least one of these guys to the children?” asked Phil.

“Not that they’re saying,” said Clint. “They all clam up pretty quick when the subject’s brought up.”

“On which point, we might have something,” said Steve. “Johnstone is currently suffering from verbal diarrhoea and has been since we got out here.”

“Coincidence?” asked Davis.

“No idea,” said Steve. “What I do know is that Epps and Edgerton are not allowed near either man we have in custody while Ganger’s only allowed if he’s got a buddy. Their AD made the set up a direct order after _CNN_ and _NBC_ ran with their serial killer headlines.”

“Keep it that way,” warned Marks, Phil nodding his agreement. “Three of them are dangerous at the best of times. No telling what they’ll do if they believe their kids are being threatened.”

“I’m beginning to think they aren’t,” said Steve. “I don’t think any of the kids – either here, Virginia or New York – are at risk of kidnap or experimentation.”

“Explain,” ordered Phil, sending Clint a warning look as the archer looked like he clearly wanted to argue with Steve’s conclusion.

“Of the forty-three bodies we have linked to this, none of them are younger than eleven years old,” said Steve.

“Jack is _thirteen_!” hissed Clint.

“But his father is grounded in Virginia,” reminded Steve. “And doing nothing that would link him to this investigation.”

“Beyond helping compile a profile,” said Tony. “But why the age preference?”

“Hotch isn’t touching the case,” said Steve. “Called me the night Hawk briefed him and apologised but because Hawk’s grounded them at Quantico for the safety of their kids, he’s refusing to allow _any_ involvement from himself, Agent Jareau or Dr Reid. I couldn’t fault his argument. And Agent Woo mentioned something about puberty – we haven’t found any boys younger than thirteen, it’s the girls making up the younger two years.”

“Not helping,” said Tony as he watched Clint start to flex his hands in an effort to maintain some control. “Go back to the Johnstone not shutting up part.”

“We’re still verifying what he’s saying but we do know he’s one of Götze’s contacts at Port Los Angeles,” said Steve. “Using Clint’s template, I’d say he’s somewhere between Von Coombs and Cassano on the hierarchy scale. Jobwise, he’s a crew shift supervisor at the Port. Means he gets to organise who’s on what shift and where they actually work.”

“Putting him in charge of how many?” asked Phil.

“Roughly two hundred,” said Steve. “Charlie’s been working on some kind of programme to work out who else is likely to be involved.”

“And confusing the hell out of you as he does so?” asked Tony with a small chuckle.

“No, this one he’s had to explain in plain English before,” said Steve, returning the chuckle. “Anyway, Johnstone explained that he’s also responsible for making sure cargo containers are available for immediate departure, either for shipping out overseas or for loading on to container lorries. Took great pains to explain that he doesn’t look inside – that he’s paid a four-figure sum per container in return – and because of that he doesn’t know if he’s moving what’s actually listed on the manifest or something else. Customs isn’t his job apparently. Granger’s been tasked with finding out whose job it is.”

“I take it his financial records are backing up his claims?” said Davis.

“In so far as they show regular deposits outside his salary, yes,” said Steve. “He’s been involved in _something_ for the last thirteen months.”

Both Tony and Phil grabbed for Clint as the archer turned deathly pale and his eyes glazed. The FBI Agents and Steve watched in concern as the pair moved Clint on to the floor, Tony shifting so that the archer’s ear was pressed against the hidden disc of his arc reactor and he began running a soothing hand through Clint’s hair.

“Keep going, Steve,” said Phil when he was sure both men were stable against the nearest solid support.

“He claims not to recognise anyone SHIELD has in custody, Götze being the exception,” said Steve, his worried gaze reluctantly snapping away from Clint and back to Phil. “Said that Götze approached him couple years ago offering him money in return for altering the movement schedule on one are of the docks. At the time, Johnstone was struggling with a handful of debts and the money he was offered was enough for him to write a couple of them off. Since all he was being asked to do was prioritise some containers before others, he didn’t see the problem. Things went without a hitch and when Götze asked him again he agreed without question. Said it became a regular thing about fifteen months ago, the first payment being cash them the rest – one every six weeks or so – being paid straight into his account. He’s convinced himself he’s not doing anything wrong and since he’s now debt free, I doubt anyone’s gonna persuade him otherwise.”

“Give me five minutes,” said Clint, he voice dropping to a growl. Phil shot him a warning look that stayed the rest of his comment but the threat to encourage Johnstone change his mind was nevertheless heard by those around him.

“What about Summers?” asked Marks.

“Isn’t nearly as talkative,” said Rothman. “Fortunately, his passport is doing that for him.”

“What she means, Phil, is we’ve found an international link,” clarified Steve. “I think we’ve got someone who has been actively involved in either selecting or kidnapping the children.”

“Send his photo to the SHIELD bases in the region,” ordered Phil. “Get the Agents on the ground to show the families.”

“Done,” said Steve, his gaze snapping back to Clint, who was now visibly shaking in Tony’s arms and Steve was honestly unsure if it was anger or trauma that was causing the reaction.

“Hawk, the promise of first screams is still yours,” he said, sending Rothman a vicious – and very un-Captain America – glare when she made to protest the idea. “But I need your head on right before I can give you the shot, understand?”

“I gotcha,” said Clint, his voice still a slight growl but his expression starting to clear.

* * *

“Sir, as instructed, I have been monitoring the recording of unnamed individuals at both hospitals and the mortuary facilities of New York,” said JARVIS on Thursday afternoon, breaking into Tony’s train of thought as the engineer was yet again going cross-eyed over Götze’s computer code (and really hating the fact the man could justifiably claim the title of genius).

Clint lay sprawled on the lab floor a matter of feet away, building a virtual CPK molecular model of the unknown compound that was currently their only solid link between the victims. One of Tony’s chemical engineers and a SHIELD biochemist lay beside him, helping examine the compound’s signature compared to the one found in Natasha’s blood and the one in Steve’s. The frowns that all three men were wearing indicated that they weren’t having much luck.

“I take it you’ve found something hinky,” said Tony, taking a moment to rub his eyes.

“Two somethings,” said JARVIS, Clint rolling his head to face Tony as the AI spoke. The archer’s gaze was filled with so much emotional pain that Tony found himself hoping for a miraculous pronouncement from his AI.

“A young woman was admitted to Lincoln Medical Centre in the early hours of this morning,” JARVIS reported. “A new born baby boy was admitted with her.”

“And this is flashing up as hinky, why?” asked Tony.

“The hospital lab conducted a toxicology screening,” said JARVIS. “The results have been returned showing evidence of the same unknown compound as those previously included in the serial murder announced by the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Her condition is very serious,” Dr Joshua Whyte explained to Phil and Agent Davis. “To the point I’m honestly surprised she survived.”

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Phil.

“Would be faster to list what isn’t,” said Whyte. “Multiple bruises at various stages of healing and no way in hell will anyone convince me they aren’t from deliberate assaults – weapons include fists, whip and a bar of some kind. There’s six cracked ribs and another broken that partially tore her left lung. Her right kidney is bruised and there is evidence of a spiral fracture to her right forearm. Her skull has a hairline fracture to both the occipital and frontal regions and she had been burnt by cigarette butts, an electrical current and what I’m going to hazard as a liquid chemical. Malnutrition and dehydration will not be helping her situation.”

“Any evidence of sexual assault?” asked Phil. Whyte looked relieved.

“No,” he said. “There’s no trauma to the vaginal or rectal passages and her hymen’s still intact.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” said Davis with a long exhale. “But if she’s a virgin, who does the baby belong to?”

“Still waiting DNA results,” said Whyte. “What I _can_ tell you is he’s far healthier than the girl. A little malnourished and underweight but far as we can tell, he was carried to full term and hadn’t been too badly traumatised by whatever caused him and the girl to wind up in an alley off East 187 th.”

“Any timetable for recovery?” asked Phil.

“Nope,” said Whyte. “And I won’t have one until she can breathe comfortably on her own. She’ll be in an induced coma until I’m confident the damage to her lung is healing properly.”

“What about the boy?” asked Davis.

“His lungs I’m not concerned about,” said Whyte with a little chuckle. “All accounts it was his screaming that led to their discovery by the morning deliveryman. He’ll stay until he starts putting on, and maintaining, some weight. Then it’ll be child services until someone steps forward to claim him.”

“Would there be any problem is someone from the Islamic Institute visited them?” asked Phil.

“She’s been through Hell,” said Whyte, folding his arms around the girl’s chart. “If it makes things easier for her, they could set up camp in her room. But what makes you think she’s Muslim?”

“We have reason to believe both her and the boy are related to the serial murder case that _CNN_ and _NBC_ reported on last Friday,” said Davis.

“To which end, there will be a couple of guards posted at her door and with the boy until we can be sure they’re safe,” said Phil.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Whyte, he eyes widening slightly in alarm.

“Our suspects are not the sort who would be happy about a leak or witnesses that were not part of their plans,” said Phil, striding away to make the call.

“It’s necessary,” said Davis as Whyte turned paler. “For everyone’s safety.”

* * *

_Clint, slow down_ , said Bruce as he listened to Clint’s hyperactive sounding report on the discovered girl and infant. _I am understanding one word in three._

“The baby,” said Clint. “DNA test shows that he’s Samira an-Nahr’s child.”

_The girl who died from child birth?_ clarified Bruce and Clint could imagine him eyebrow raising at the question.

“Yes,” said Clint, nodding emphatically even though Bruce would not see him.

_Clint, you do remember_ CSI _is not accurate representation of lab conditions,_ said Bruce carefully. _When was the baby found?_

“Seventy-eight hours ago,” said Clint. “And CSI shows underpaid, overworked, understaffed labs. The test was done in the hospital – the boy is baby an-Nahr.”

_Let me put you on speaker,_ said Bruce, Clint hearing the button press even as he heard Bruce shouting for Natasha and Thom.

_Dad has taught you all a warped definition of_ downtime, declared Thom and Clint couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.

“Far safer to keep us occupied,” he said.

_I can imagine_ , said Thom. _And there are Agents who swear blind a Nerf war in the Helicarrier corridors is a good training exercise. So, what’s happened?_

“We’ve got survivors,” said Clint and he knew he was grinning like an idiot. “Including the infant.”

_What?_ choked Natasha. _How? When? How many?_

“Just two,” said Clint. “SHIELD’s still working on spitting out a name for the girl so the hospital staff have taken to calling her Princess. Docs are keeping her under sedation for another day or so but they’re saying stuff like ‘cautious optimism’ and keep emphasising that she’s fighting so we’re hopeful she’ll wake up with no lasting physical damage. She’s a mess but she’s got SHIELD paying her medical bills, couple of people from the Islamic Institute making sure she’s cared for spiritually and Boss has worked out a schedule with Harrison so there’s always two guards at her door and the neonatal unit.”

_And he has you and Kit doing what?_ asked Thom.

“Nothing yet,” said Clint. “He wants us to meet with the local Imam to make sure we don’t cause any offense.”

_Short of ignoring him completely, there’s not much wrong you could do with the boy,_ said Bruce. _Pay attention to what he tells you about your Princess though – for her sake rather than her religion’s._

“I gotcha,” said Clint, still grinning like a lunatic despite his lack of viewing audience. “Thom, you got any tips?”

_Treat her like the Princess you’ve named her,_ said Thom and Clint could hear his shrug. _Dignity, respect, gentleness and her word is absolute. Doesn’t mean you can’t try persuading her to change her mind but no bullying and no subterfuge._

_You are not demanding their transfer to the_ Angel Dreams _unit,_ Natasha said, her words a statement but all three men hearing the underlying question of ‘why?’

“And I won’t be,” said Clint. “Because at the Lincoln they’ll receive the best medical treatment – the Tower isn’t set up to deal with the mess she’s been left in. And the atmosphere at the Lincoln is better for their recovery than the desperation and chaos that’s around the Tower.”

_Didn’t think you bought the whole feng shui idea,_ said Bruce and Clint was able to hear the man’s smile.

“I don’t,” replied Clint.

_He just has enough experience to know that it’s easier to recover from an injury when you feel safe,_ said Thom. _You never did explain how Dad’s office flood helped with that by the way._

“It’s your Dad’s office floor,” said Clint with a subconscious shrug, hearing Natasha echo the sentiment.

_Kit makes the same kinda comment about having you on speed dial,_ griped Thom. _Guy could get jealous of that kind of relationship._

Clint gave a small chuckle, slightly embarrassed by the knowledge that Mother Mary Catherine and Sister Mary Stephen actively encouraged their charges to seek out Clint’s help should they have a problem they felt they could not bring to the sisters. Kit, Hannah, Theo, Chloe and Caspian had taken the idea to extremes, however, and made a point of always carrying Clint’s most up to date contact information.

“Do what Tony does,” the archer advised. “Let him know what he’d be missing should he wander.”

_Clint!_

* * *

It took another seventy hours but, eventually, the young girl was identified as Amira Masri, a fifteen year old Iraqi who had been reported missing to SHIELD two months into the start of their investigation. Preliminary results were also suggesting a familial link between Amira and the baby boy, the current conclusion being that they were cousins. According to Alexander Yusef, the lead SHIELD Agent in the area, the family were overjoyed that the girl had been found alive and were now doing everything they could to secure an American visa for Amira’s sister and father so they could visit her and provide the emotional and spiritual support Amira would need to recover as well as attempt to shed light on the apparent genetic connection between the two children. When Clint was told, Phil was convinced he saw a heavy weight being removed from about the archer’s shoulders. Kit too appeared to relax slightly, leading to a confused Imam turning to Phil for answers.

“Family is important to them,” the Agent had said. “And they know how important its support is during times of pain and distress.”

“I shall make sure the family are aware of the support both have already given to their daughter and the boy,” the Imam said. Phil inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and thanks before excusing himself to answer his phone that had been buzzing incessantly against his hip for the last ten minutes.

“I have done nothing more than what my heart has demanded,” said Clint quietly, startling the Imam slightly. “I know the pain inflicted on Amira and it is not something I would wish many to carry alone.”

“And your companion?” asked the Imam. Clint smiled gently.

“My brother,” he corrected. “Knows the pain of losing his family just when he needed them most.”

“You are both still in pain,” the Imam observed.

“Some dreams are stubborn,” said Clint, straightening his shoulders slightly. “But they are old wounds. What Amira is suffering is raw and she has been through more than enough without her rest being disturbed as well.”

“From what I have seen, you are doing a remarkable job,” said the Imam.

“Thanks,” said Clint, dropping his head to look at his boots. “I think.”

“It was a compliment,” said the Imam with a gentle smile, encouraging Clint to look at him again. “As is your reading of the Qur’an. You have experience tending to the fallen among our brothers and sisters?”

“I had a buddy who said hearing the scriptures helped when someone was sick. It’s the only Arabic I know,” said Clint with a self-conscious shrug. “This stage isn’t something I get to see very often in my job. Didn’t want to foul up what few chances I actually got.”

“Even the largest ocean is made of individual drops,” said the Imam. “And the ones that bear your name are currently bringing comfort to two traumatised young children who would otherwise be forced to walk this path alone.”

With that, the Imam turned for the Interfaith Chapel and left Clint watching Amira through the glass where one of the Islamic Institute employees quietly conversed with the ailing girl in her native Arabic.

“Clint?” Phil said gently as he approached the archer. Clint turned his head a fraction to show that he was listening but refusing to take his eyes off his current focus.

“Another body’s been found,” said Phil, reacting quickly to catch Clint as he staggered forward slightly.

“Not a child,” Phil hastened to explain. “We think it’s one of the kidnappers.”

* * *

“Meet Damien Sanders,” said Marks, throwing an autopsy mug-shot of a skinhead man who looked to be somewhere in his mid-thirties. “And considering how quickly IAFIS spat out his name, I’m not surprised by the mile long list of convictions he had. Started making his way through the penal code at the tender age of sixteen with a DUI before trying his hand at criminal damage – he took exception to the colour white on twenty-seven ghost rider memorials when he was eighteen. By twenty he’d graduated to B&E, robbery, possession with intent to supply before his penultimate violation of assault back in 2014. He was paroled three months ago apparently – according to his parole officer at least – a reformed character.”

“Let me guess – he found religion while inside and got out for being a model prisoner,” said Clint.

“Thankfully no,” said Marks. “Man kept increasing the charges against him while inside and he would’ve been made to serve his entire sentence of eight years, four months had he not been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma around Christmas.”

“So he got compassionate release?” asked Tony.

“That’s what it looks like,” said Marks. “Wasn’t the cancer that killed him though. That came courtesy of a double-tap to the back of the head. Preliminary autopsy report suggest that he was kneeling while his executioner was standing.”

“And we’re able to link him to this case how?” asked Phil.

“A note,” said Marks, cancelling the autopsy mug-shot and throwing up the image of an off-yellow coloured piece of paper that bore a scrawl of Russian Cyrillic in black ink.

двадцать пять является достаточно. Мы иметь сделанный что вы бы не

“That is very bad Russian,” said Clint, scanning the writing. “Almost like the author knows the individual words but has never had to string them into a sentence before.”

“What does it say?” asked Marks.

“Literally? Twenty-five is enough. We have done that you would not,” said Clint, scribbling on the tablet in front of him.

“It gets the message across,” asked Davis.

“Yes,” said Clint. “But it hasn’t been written by a fluent Russian speaker.”

“And you know this how?” asked Davis.

“My partner’s Russian,” reminded Clint. “And I spent the three months before I met her running from Vladivostok to St Petersburg to Moscow. SHIELD made sure I could read, write and understand the language before they let me board the plane. It was a skill Natasha encouraged me to continue.”

“More like refused to give you any other choice,” said Phil with a slight smile as Clint transferred his scribbling up onto the projector, his own version of the note hovering beneath that on the paper, highlighting the different words with a broad underline.

Двадцать пять достаточно. Мы сделали то, что вы не захотели

“I’m sticking to my version of events,” Clint said to Phil even as Tony chuckled lightly. “As I said, the author of that note knows some Russian but is in no way fluent. We have anything more ’cause I don’t see it leading us far.”

“No,” agreed Marks. “Which is why samples of the paper, ink and Mr Sanders clothing are being analysed by forensics, both NYPD and FBI. The findings are then being compared to the samples taken from Amira Marsi and baby an-Nahr when they were admitted to the Lincoln. With any luck, things will start to match up.”

“Which will get us where, exactly?” asked Tony. “Because dead men can only do so much talking.”

“It’ll give us a search area,” said Davis, throwing a map of New York on to the projector, dotting a blue beacon over the alley on East 187th where Amira had been found while planting another over 2nd Avenue where Sanders had been found.

“There are two ways in which Amira ended up on that alley,” said Davis. “Either her captors thought she was dead and this was just another body dump, which brings up the question of why a comparatively healthy infant was found alongside her. Or, by some brilliant stroke of luck, he was able to escape. In that case, there is only so far she would be able to travel. Adrenaline and maternal instinct would only be able to carry her so far.”

“Sanders was definitely a body dump,” continued Marks. “And the double bullet wounds could mean a bullet for the two escapees, especially if he was the one on guard duty when they escaped. On the other hand, it could be that whoever shot him wanted to make certain he was dead.”

“Why the Russian note though?” asked Tony. Phil looked at him carefully before asking his question.

“When you were kidnapped,” he said. “Did anyone explicitly state where you were?”

“No,” said Tony, shifting in his chair and crossing his arms protectively over his chest – he enjoyed speaking about Afghanistan as much as Clint did Russia or Phil did Suriname.

“So why did you think you were still in Afghanistan? By your own admission you spent at least two weeks in a state of drugged and drunken semi-consciousness,” said Phil, carefully ensuring his questioning stayed within the realm of public knowledge (a scope that had widened considerably since Tony had been persuaded to give a tell-all interview about four months after his marriage to Clint).

“I was attacked in Kandahar,” said Tony, his voice steady but he was obviously uncomfortable with Phil’s question, “I was kept in a cave, the local all wore the same get up I’d seen on people before I even went on that convoy, the people holding me all spoke some tribal language.”

“Clint?” asked Phil. “Angola?”

“Same sorta thing,” said Clint. “Never got shown anything that would’ve sparked doubts about the story I was being fed.”

“Which is my point,” said Phil. “At some point, these kids have been in Russia. They’ve been held there long enough to get them acclimatised to the language and the sounds of daily life. After that, they’ve been drugged and transported, their final destination being so similar to what they remember that their disorientation has them believing they are still somewhere in Russia.”

“Which would make the note a warning,” said Clint.

“Makes sense considering the accusatory language,” said Phil.

“I’m sorry,” said Tony, looking totally confused. “You lost me at ‘still in Russia’.”

“‘Would not’ rather than ‘could not’,” said Phil. “Sounds like something someone would say when they feel like they’ve taken the only option left despite seeking the help of others.”

“You’re reaching a little,” said Marks. “Clint’s already said the note reads like someone knows the individual words rather than the language. It stands to reason that they’d only know certain words – it is possible they know the word ‘would’ but not ‘could’.”

“Yes,” admitted Phil. “But I’d rather go reaching and have my hand slapped back than simply sit staring at something and hope someone will give me the answer. JARVIS, I’m aware of how much of a long shot this is but can you track the movements of Sanders through the last seven days? ATM cameras, traffic cameras, CCTV?”

“I will compile as comprehensive a picture as I can,” said JARVIS. Clint bit his lip and looked at Phil.

“Garcia could help,” he said. Tony was halfway through violently shaking his head when he saw Phil was actually considering the idea.

“She knows Morgan’s working on this doesn’t she?” the Agent asked. Clint nodded.

“And that Aaron, JJ and Reid aren’t allowed anywhere near the case,” he said. “It’s driving her slightly crazy.”

“Alright,” said Phil with a sigh. “ _But_ you clear her involvement with Dave and Morgan first. I don’t need either showing up here in a temper because we’ve traumatised her.”

“Gotcha,” said Clint, collecting his notebook and tablet and leaving the War Room with a nod for Phil and a quick kiss for Tony.

“I’m going to be offended on JARVIS’ behalf,” Tony declared. “And I’m still stuck at the ‘still in Russia’ part of your explanation. The kids we’ve IDed have been Iraqi, Afghani or Iranian.”

“All of which have had Soviet or Russian influence or support from as recent as 2015,” said Davis. “Iran and Afghanistan also share a border with the former USSR.”

“OK, I’m gonna go with this,” said Tony. “But what happened to the trips round the Cape? That takes six weeks easy, no way you’d be able to keep kids drugged for that long, especially if you want some use of them at the other end.”

“But both California and New York have significant populations that claim Russian heritage,” said Marks. “Many of who wouldn’t speak Russian as a first language.”

“Which works for the note but not much else,” said Davis.

“Tony, you know when Clint and Natasha are speaking Russian, correct?” said Phil. Tony nodded, still looking vaguely confused.

“Would it make any difference if they had a conversation or just spouted random words?” continued Phil.

“By this point, yes,” said Tony. “Because they’ve been doing it for five years. To start with though, I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”

“Again making my point,” said Phil. “All these kids would need is the sound of Russian and their disorientation continues even if the words are a menu or a page of the Vladivostok phone directory.”

“We’re running the risk of getting lost in fantasy and supposition,” warned Marks. “Having said that, I’d like to see if Sanders has been hanging around Brighton Beach recently. I have to agree with Tony though – we have evidence that Mostovoi is involved with trans-Pacific trade that is resulting in trips around Cape Horn. If the children aren’t on those ships, what is? And how are they getting to New York if not by ship?”

“And that, gentlemen, is a question we need to answer quickly,” declared Phil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translation **
> 
> двадцать пять является достаточно. Мы иметь сделанный что вы бы не –  
>  _Twenty-five is enough. We have done that you would not_
> 
> Двадцать пять достаточно. Мы сделали то, что вы не захотели –  
>  _Twenty-five is enough. We have done what you would not_


	17. Chapter 17

“Ah, you get lost?” asked Tony as he arrived in his lab to find Clint dancing with Ashley to the strains of a piano concerto that was filtering through the speakers. Or rather, that’s what the archer would have been doing had Ashley not been settled against his shoulder, her face lax with sleep and a stuffed tiger squashed between her body and Clint’s bicep.

“No,” said Clint, turning around to face his husband but not stopping his movement to the music. “Was working on the CPK molecular models when Strawb’ry came looking for me.”

“She alright?” asked Tony, stepping forward in concern. Ashley _knew_ she wasn’t allowed near the labs, particularly Tony’s and Bruce’s, without supervision. To have her make her way to one on her own something must have upset her badly.

“No,” said Clint. “Thor isn’t here.”

“She does understand he has duties on Asgard, yeah?” said Tony, his heart clenching as he noticed that Ashley’s face was streaked with drying tears.

“Yes,” said Clint. “But the last time he was here, Thor told her that if she ever needed him she was to shout to Heimdall and he would come. She says she’s been speaking, shouting and whispering to both Thor and Heimdall since we sent Tasha to Providence and she doesn’t understand why no one’s answering her.”

“What have you told her?” asked Tony.

“I haven’t,” said Clint. “I don’t know _what_ to tell her because right now my mind is creating one scenario after another as to why Thor isn’t responding and none of them are good.”

“So nothing as simple as being caught up in politics then,” said Tony, leaning against one of the benches and watching as Clint continued to rock Ashley gently in a manner parents the world over managed with ease.

“But easily as violent as him being stuck in a battle with another of the Nine Realms,” said Clint, shifting Ashley slightly as her head started to slide off his shoulder. “Mother Mary Catherine once told me that just because I don’t get the answers to my prayers when I want them doesn’t mean I won’t get them at all.”

“Something you can tell a twenty-two-year-old soldier but not something a four-year-old will understand,” said Tony with a sigh. “Any reason she’s with you and not Pepper or Happy?”

“She snuck out,” said Clint with a small chuckle that wasn’t entirely appropriate but was involuntary nonetheless. “JARVIS told Pepper soon as she was with me so she’s grounded for the next three nights but other than that, no harm, no foul. I think Pepper’s more upset that she came looking for me than her.”

“See, at four-years-old kids have memories that would rival JARVIS for what they store,” said Tony. “And the more important a person is to them, the better the memory.”

“And just what are we supposed to be remembering?” asked Clint, looking torn between amusement and seriously curtailing the length of time Tony and Bruce spent together.

“The day Zach was born,” said Tony. “Remember where you were?”

“Nuuk,” said Clint. “Joint endurance training exercise with some of the newer field Agents and UN Peacekeepers.”

“And when Ashley called you, terrified because her Mommy had been in a lot of pain when the paramedics took her to the hospital, what did you do?” continued Tony. Clint gave a small smile, realising where Tony was going with his questions.

“Dropped everything and told you to send me the Mark XIV,” he said. “I was home in under two hours.”

“And refused to let Ashley go from the moment she jumped you,” said Tony gently. “You have no idea how many doe-eyed looks that got you.”

“Huh?”

“You were still in your camouflage gear,” said Tony. “And your entire world was centred on the crying four-year-old in your arms. It made for a pretty sexy picture.”

“I’m starting to get slightly worried about the number of times you’re bringing up how I look when I’m holding the kids,” said Clint.

“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s hot,” said Tony, completely unashamed of his appraisal of his husband’s sex appeal.

“Tony, as far as our adoring fans are concerned, I could be brushing my teeth and they’d still be drooling over my picture,” said Clint with a small laugh.

“Which is a very good argument for keeping cameras out the bathroom,” said Tony with a grin. “Gotta keep some things to myself. Anyway, do you remember what you said to her?”

“That I would never be too busy or too far away to help her,” said Clint, his gaze dropping to the sleeping child in his arms and his voice dropping to a murmur. “That my job is important but nothing is more important than keeping my family safe.”

“And that’s why she came looking for you,” said Tony. “Because, for whatever reason, Thor can’t answer her pleas and she needed the comfort of someone who has never broken a promise to her. You able to find anything before you got interrupted?”

“Which time?” Clint asked, moving to the sofa to settle Ashley down, carefully wrapping her in the well-loved Afghan throw that lived on the back.

“Ah-tat-at,” said Tony. “This is my lab, only I have permission to snark.”

“See, when we signed that marriage certificate you agreed to share property 50-split,” said Clint, turning to wrap his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “And while Pepper still owns 12%, you and I have 44% each. Now, we can draw chalk lines across every floor or you can let me claim what forty floors I please.”

“Chalk dust gets into all the tricky places,” said Tony, reaching to thread his fingers through Clint’s belt loops. “And you’re missing one-point-eight-four floors.”

“No, one is used by the _Angel Dreams_ unit,” said Clint. “And the other one we share. Considering the balcony and your Iron Man platform rings and we’ve got the point-eight-four.”

“Got this all worked out, huh?” said Tony.

“Yep,” smirked Clint, leaning forward to steal a kiss.

“So, genius, billionaire, superhero, agent,” said Tony when they broke apart. “What have you discovered with all your fancy toys?”

“The reason Amira Masri and baby an-Nahr were able to walk out the other side of hell,” said Clint, ducking out from Tony’s arms and grabbing his hand, pulling him over to where four CPK molecular models were casually spinning just above head height.

“You remember you told Bruce the gamma radiation burst should’ve killed him?” Clint said.

“Yeah,” said Tony, curiously, not least because that conversation had been had when Clint was still under Loki’s thrall.

“And the assumption is that the Other Guy came out and saved his life,” continued Clint.

“I take if you have a different idea?” said Tony.

“Kind of,” said Clint, reaching up to pull all four CPK models down before them, highlighting a repeating pattern in each.

“This is the only part that is exactly the same in all four samples,” Clint explained. “That is Steve, Tasha, Bruce and the one the MEs are finding.”

“I thought Dr Erskine’s formula altered Steve’s DNA,” said Tony. “It’s certainly what all Dad’s notes and the propaganda said.”

“And from a 1930’s and 40’s point of view, that idea makes sense,” said Clint. “’Specially since the Nazis were making a huge deal out of the genetic purity of the Arian race. But whatever it is that Dr Erskine injected Steve with, it didn’t alter his DNA. The Steve Rogers that was born in Brooklyn July 1922 is genetically the same guy who rescued the 117th from HYDRA and who we dug out of the Arctic back in 2011. Same with Tasha – genetically, the deadly assassin I hauled in from the cold is the same scared kid who said yes to Red Room in the first place.”

“Which helps us how?” asked Tony.

“Think of it like a shot you get at the doctors,” said Clint. “What they do is inject you with the virus they want to protect you from. Most of the time, they do that by taking the virus and removing some or all of the DNA that allows replication. The body gets enough of the coding that when the real thing comes along it recognises it as a threat and is able to produce effective antibodies. What a shot _doesn’t_ do is affect your actual DNA – any antibodies kids get as a foetus comes from the mother’s _blood_ not the DNA blueprint in the egg or sperm.”

“Which still allows for Mom and baby an-Nahr to have the compound in their blood,” said Tony. “But where does Bruce fit into this?”

“Bruce experimented on himself,” said Clint. “Not because he wanted to be the next Captain America but because he wanted to make sure whatever he was cooking up in his lab wouldn’t harm those who _were_ to become our army of super-soldiers. When he got hit by the gamma radiation, the ‘antibodies’ in his blood went into overdrive big time. Saved his life and, in an effort to expel the excess, the Other Guy manifested.”

“You mean the Jolly Green is basically a massive zit?” blinked Tony.

“Not quite how I’d have phrased it,” chuckled Clint, glancing over at Ashley when she snuffled in her sleep. “But, essentially, yeah.”

“But if all folks are getting is a shot, why are we seeing so many different results?” asked Tony. “Ranging from Steve to Abomination.”

“Way too many variables,” said Clint. “But my best guess is that those who get the ‘shot’ naturally reacted differently, same as if they’d been given a ‘flu shot. In the case of Abomination, I’d be more inclined to say severe allergic reaction, possibly because what Blonsky got was contaminated with Bruce’s blood rather than being the pure compound.”

“But why is the same compound producing such a wide variety of transformations?” asked Tony. Clint scrubbed the back of his head.

“Mind if we set reality aside for a second?” he asked. Tony chuckled lightly and swept a hand out in a gesture that encompassed the entire lab.

“That’s kinda the point in here,” he said. “What you thinking?”

“That Dr Erskine’s formula, and all the ones that have come after it, has a psychological aspect to it as well,” said Clint. Tony raised an eyebrow in both curiosity and scepticism.

“Think about it,” said Clint, noticing the look. “When he was injected, Steve wanted nothing more than to protect his country from war – in return he becomes a near perfect soldier and spectacle of peek human health. When Schmidt injected himself, he was focused on the opposite – power, self-gratification and obliteration of millions of people. Tasha and Bruce were looking to survive and because of the immediate need in Bruce’s case that led to the Other Guy. With Blonsky, he was seeking revenge – Bruce had the girl he wanted and she ended up hurt because of Bruce – and he was looking for the ultimate hero acclaim as the man who brought down The Hulk.”

“Amira and baby an-Nahr?” asked Tony, his scepticism fading as he admitted Clint was making sense.

“Same as Tasha,” said Clint. “They want to survive and the desire is strong enough that our mystery compound is giving them the ability to do so.”

“OK, Devil’s advocate,” said Tony. “Why haven’t the other forty-three kids survived? You saying they didn’t have the same desire to live?”

“That I can’t answer,” said Clint, scrubbing the back of his head again. “I can look but everything ’ll be opinion not fact.”

“Stuff you’ve come up with so far is making sense,” said Tony, not bothering to hide the admiration from his eyes as he unwrapped the hand from the back of Clint’s neck and tugged him forward to steal a kiss.

“Where’ve you been hiding all these smarts?” he asked when they broke apart again. Clint flushed and made to duck his head down but Tony caught his chin.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s what people expect,” said Clint. “Pretty face who happens to be a good shot. They don’t like it when the insubordinate ex-army, ex-carny shows them up so it’s better just to play to expectations and play dumb.”

“You are a hell of a lot more than a pretty face,” said Tony firmly. “Bruce showed me those calculations you had the UNE kids and the Marines do and I _know_ he told you it was some pretty complex stuff. And this? Clint, the country’s – no, make that the _world’s_ – best scientists have been working on the super-soldier problem since Erskine’s death and not a single one of them has looked beyond the chemistry. Hell, none of them have thought to go back to the original source for answers.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got a slight advantage on that one,” said Clint. Tony shook his head.

“The stuff was there,” he said. “People just didn’t bother to look. You don’t have the fancy letters or the graduating certificates but you are a _lot_ more than the transport for a bow arm.”

“The people who matter know that, Tony,” said Kit, startling the engineer.

“I am getting you a damn bell!” Tony declared, spinning to face the Watch Captain. Kit and Clint both chuckled.

“Challenge accepted,” Kit declared in return, his mirth dampening quickly as he glanced back to Clint.

“We know he’s more than a bow arm,” he said. “The Director knows when to listen to him seriously. Most of the senior security agents pay attention when he’s talking and the Chief will _always_ ask his opinion on a mission. The people who matter listen and know, the rest aren’t worth bothering about.”

“That’s what I told you when you joined SHIELD,” protested Clint.

“And at the time, you told me that the Chief had given you the same story,” said Kit. “Old lessons are the best ones, Séig. Now, I am here with firm instructions from Pepper than Ashely is _not_ to spend the night in the lab, regardless of where you two end up. Want me to take her up or you done for the night?”

“Probably not even close,” said Clint, scrubbing his head over his face this time. “You mind taking her?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I did,” said Kit. “Sounds like you’ve caught a break.”

“Just how long were you pretending to be a shadow?” Tony asked, a little chagrined, as Clint scooped the blanket wrapped Ashely into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering goodnight. Kit grinned at him.

“I’m a SHIELD marksman,” he said. “Shadow is part of the job description.”

“Apparently so is offering me sassy comments while in my lab,” Tony said, looking unimpressed.

“Nah,” said Kit as Clint settled Ashley into his arms. “That comes with being your little brother.”

With that, Kit slipping out of the lab as quietly as he’d entered, leaving Clint and Tony to stare blankly at the lazily spinning CPK models.

* * *

“This, I know, is not in your file,” declared Bruce as he walked into the communal kitchen Wednesday afternoon to find Clint standing at the central bunker preparing the vegetables for the Scotch broth that would make up part of that evening’s meal. Clint’s head shot up from where he was peeling and slicing the turnip to stare at Bruce.

“Hey,” he greeted, his knife halfway through a particular stubborn vegetable quarter. “When’d you get back?”

“About half an hour ago,” said Bruce. “Tasha went to see Pepper and the kids. It true Ashley’s grounded?”

“Three nights,” said Clint. “She came looking for me in Tony’s lab last night.”

“Oh, so _now_ it’s my lab?” questioned Tony from where he was halfway inside the bunker unit that held the coffee maker and the microwave. “Should’ve heard him last night, Bruce – had it all worked out which floors the marriage certificate means he can claim as his right down to the point-eight-four that crops up when you split ninety-three into twelve and two forty-fours.”

“I’m going to pretend that made sense,” said Bruce with a small laugh and slightly befuddled look. He held his tablet out so Clint could see the report he and Tony had written for Phil to explain their late-night lab session.

“How’d you know that was me?” asked Clint, going back to slicing the turnip. “Bio-chem isn’t really my area.”

“Clint,” growled Tony, pulling himself out of the bunker unit and pointing his screwdriver at Clint in warning. “We had this conversation last night.”

“We did,” agreed Clint. “Still doesn’t change the fact bio-chem isn’t my area. I’m just wondering how Bruce knew it was me writing that report.”

“Aside from your signature?” asked Bruce. “The way things have been linked together and the more simplistic way things are worded – Tony would make things a hell of a lot more complicated simply because he could, especially if he knew the report was going to end up in front of Hill or Fury.”

“Hey!” protested Tony even as he slid back under the bunker. “You make it sound like it’s my fault they don’t understand the technical language.”

“No,” said Bruce. “But it _is_ a weakness that you take great pleasure in exploiting. Anyway, Clint, I am very impressed. Where you able to find out anything more since you wrote the report?”

“Haven’t looked,” said Clint, speaking to his chopping board. “Spent the morning at the hospital with Amira and the infant.”

“How are they?” asked Bruce, setting the tablet aside and seating himself as the bunker.

“Stronger,” said Clint. “Amira still needs oxygen but she’s off the actual ventilator apparatus and she’s managing to stay awake for a few hours. Dr Whyte says she’s still got a while to go before she’s out of danger but he’s confident she’s gonna make it. The boy appears to be everyone’s darling and if it wasn’t for the police report and his complete lack of a name, he’d be like every other infant in the neonate unit.”

“Any news on the family?” asked Bruce.

“SHIELD is working to get the visas for Amira’s father and sister fast-tracked,” Clint said. “But nothing for definite yet. I have spoken to them though, as has Dr Whyte, so they’re not going to walk into the hospital room completely blind as to what’s wrong.”

“And the familial link?” asked Bruce. Clint took a shaky breath before nodding.

“Cousins,” he said. “Samira is the Amira’s aunt – a surprise child for her parents, closest sibling is Thom’s age.”

“The baby’s father?”

“No one’s sure,” said Clint. “Samira wasn’t married when she went missing and the date she was reported missing and the estimated conception date are too close to say whether she fell pregnant before or after.”

“There been any indication as to what will happen to the boy?” asked Bruce carefully.

“No,” said Clint with another shaky inhale. Tony abandoned whatever it was he was doing inside the bunker unit and moved to wrap his arms around Clint from behind.

“Reports from the Iraqi SHIELD team are indicating that Samira’s family want nothing more to do with their daughter,” Tony said, angling his body to keep Clint steady and upright, sliding his hands down to encourage the archer to release the knife he held and tangling their fingers together.

“They’re thankful that she’s been found but no one’s making plans to come and either retrieve or at least claim to the body,” continued Tony. “And they’re outright refusing to accept responsibility for the baby, and I quote – he was found with Amira, let her and her family raise him – end quote.”

“Any chance they’ll be persuaded to change their minds?” asked Bruce, understanding why Clint looked so distraught. Kit’s desperate welcome for Thom also made more sense and the physicist silently prayed that Natasha would not react badly to the news when she was told. Clint shrugged.

“The Imam said he would speak to Amira’s father – he’s apparently Samira’s brother-in-law – once he had had the opportunity to see his daughter,” he said.

“So still a cause for hope,” said Bruce, reaching for his tablet again and tapping open the report on Damien Sanders and flipping the tablet back round to show the autopsy mug-shot.

“This particular breed of bastard giving us any new leads?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Irish Translation **
> 
> _Séig_ \- Hawk


	18. Chapter 18

“Master Hawkeye,” demanded Balder as he strode into the War Room on Thursday morning, a mildly perturbed looking Thor in his wake. “Perhaps you can explain to me why Heimdall is reporting the deaths of nigh on fifty children on a mission which you are involved?”

“Whoa!” exclaimed Tony, shooting to his feet. “No way. You do _not_ waltz into our home and start throwing accusations around.”

“Especially when you’ve been ignoring my niece’s pleas for ten days,” said Clint, his glare levelled at both Thor and Balder, the Thunder God receiving most of the venom. The older Asgardian at least had the grace to look contrite while Balder remained unimpressed.

“You have become near-sighted to the problem,” he said. “Your niece is but one child who is decidedly more protected than those you are failing.”

“One thing your Prince and I have in common is a promise sworn to that child,” said Clint, shooting to his own feet. “I can say with complete confidence that I have never broken my word to her. If you have nothing constructive to add, you can leave.”

“Brother Hawk, at least allow me the opportunity to explain my delay,” said Thor, stepping forward to press a hand to Balder’s shoulder to stay the other Asgardian’s tongue. “It is regretfully true that I did not answer the Lady Ashley as I promised but it was not without cause. My mother, the Lady Frigga, is one who has the gift of foresight as well as the ability to wield such. When Heimdall first reported the Lady Ashley’s pleas to me, my mother – my _Queen_ – asked that I stay my departure until she was able to determine if she would be allowed to use her gift to aid this quest. She also wished to send the Lady Ashley and Lady Natasha some words of hope.”

“Ashley has been _begging_ for your return for _ten days_!” snarled Clint. “She sought me out in the labs _alone_ , she was that distraught.”

“Which means you better have some good news,” said Tony, somewhat pleased to watch Thor blanch at Clint’s words.

“I am sorry,” said Thor, his eyes becoming downcast. “My mother was only able to determine shadows and metaphors.”

“She was, however, looking for something to tell a young child,” said Phil from where he was sitting quietly at the end of the conference table. “Clint, Tony, sit down. Thor, what was your mother able to See?”

“The darkest of shadows fleeing in the face of spots of brilliant light,” said Thor. “Two birds fighting a furious battle in flight. A toothless wolf and snake snarling at anyone who looked to closely.”

“That’s supposed to bring hope to a child?” asked Tony in disgust. “Battle and injury?”

“Have a care, Man of Iron,” growled Balder.

“Thor,” Phil said pointedly, sending Tony and Balder a withering glare to silence their arguing. “The wolf and snake – do they have significance to your people?”

“They are key characters in the unfolding of Ragnarök,” replied Thor.

“So to see them toothless is a good omen,” said Phil. Thor nodded.

“And the birds?” continued Phil. “Was your mother able to determine their type?”

“She would not say,” said Thor. “Only that one was strong and proud, carrying on the fight though taking on many an injury as it did so.”

“Which sounds like a certain Hawk we all know,” said Tony.

“She was unable to See the end of the battle,” continued Thor as if Tony had not spoken.

“Because even the most experienced warrior will tell you such isn’t predictable despite our best efforts,” said Phil, watching as Clint moved to wrap his arms around Tony, a hand going to press against the arc reactor disc.

“What do I tell the Lady Ashley?” asked Thor.

“That you are sorry you were delayed,” said Phil, shooting Clint a look of mild rebuke when the archer murmured something indistinct to Tony, the engineer moving one of his hands to join the one pressing against the reactor. “But that it was not of your choosing but at your mother’s behest. And tell her that the Lady Frigga has seen the end to the battles her family are currently fighting.”

“And she will accept such an explanation?” asked Thor, looking unsure. Phil smiled gently at the Asgardian.

“You are finally here, Thor,” he said. “Ashley will accept any explanation you give her. Besides, she has Pepper as her mother – she knows that such a relation is the one person you don’t argue with, no matter your age or station.”

“Very well,” said Thor. “I take my leave to seek the Ladies and offer my apologies. Balder?”

“I will stay,” said Balder. “Master Hawkeye is yet to provide me with an answer to my question.”

“And he isn’t going to,” said Tony. “Because he doesn’t owe you any. You want to stay then sit down but shut up – some of us have work to do.”

“Balder, I believe it best if you accompany me for the moment,” said Thor, resting his hand back on his fellow Asgardian’s shoulder and encouraging him to follow. “The Lady Ashley will perhaps be more cheered by your presence that by my words.”

Balder reluctantly agreed to his Prince’s command and, with a final disgusted look towards Tony and Clint, followed Thor from the War Room, the Thunder God already asking to JARVIS for Ashley and Pepper’s location.

“Do you have to antagonise _everyone_ who questions the progress of this investigation?” growled Phil when the two Asgardians were out of earshot. He didn’t really care _which_ of his companions answered him.

“When said questioner hasn’t been here to see what this investigation is actually doing to those involved,” said Tony. “Damn right I am. _Especially_ when they accuse my husband of things that are far beyond his control!”

“And chance you could just _avoid_ Balder rather than attempting to start an inter-planetary dispute?” asked Phil, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No promises,” said Tony, using his hold on Clint’s hand to tug the archer round into a chair before turning his attention back to the tablet he had been studying before the Asgardians’ arrival. Clint chuckled lightly, earning himself a glare from Phil and a small smile from Tony. The engineer shifted his hand to tangle his fingers with the archer’s, leaving their hands in plain sight on the table, before both men turned their (almost) full attention back to their work. Phil watched them for a few minutes, unable to stop the smile developing across his face. It was, after all, Tony’s protective tendencies that had had the Agent give his wholehearted blessing to the relationship from the start.

It appeared he would need to speak to both Balder and Thor as well.

* * *

“Coulson, any idea if Ridha or Johnstone are still in their talkative moods?” asked Davis as he arrived in the War Room two hours later.

“Haven’t heard either way,” said Phil, looking up from his re-examination of the dumpsite photographs. “Why?”

“Because Sanders’ clothes are doing a lot of shouting,” said Davis, dropping into a chair. “Their main statement is currently ‘I’ve been in a lot of old buildings recently.’”

“You worked that out how?” asked Phil.

“Man was covered in asbestos dust,” said Davis. “And the autopsy showed that he had inhaled some of it too. For a man with terminal cancer, he wasn’t doing much to slow his deterioration.”

“You’ve got nothing to lose if you’re living with an expiration date,” said Phil.

“We’ve all got one of those,” said Davis, dismissively. “And the clothing Amira Marsi, the infant _and_ all twenty-five of our other victims were wearing have varying level of asbestos traces on them.”

“That still leaves a lot of buildings,” said Phil.

“True,” said Davis. “But after 2001, a lot of companies stopped using anything but concrete-asbestos. If the NYPD and FBI can’t age the fibres, any chance SHIELD could give things a shot?”

“I’ll let them know to expect samples,” said Phil. “But what’s asbestos got to do with Ridha or Johnstone?”

“Would save us a lot of effort if we could at least get a hint as to where we should be looking,” said Davis before clearing his throat somewhat nervously.

“Agent Romanoff is back, yes?” he asked.

“Yesterday afternoon,” said Phil, canting his head. “Why does that appear to concern you?”

“Think she would be able to help us work out how much floor space these guys would need?” Davis asked.

“You can ask,” said Phil. “Just accept the word ‘no’ if that’s what she gives you.”

“Unless I get Barton to make the request,” said Davis. Phil looked at him sharply.

“In this instance he will tell you the same,” he said. “Mostovoi and Red Room are akin to the Devil and Hell – neither will push their partner into that.”

“Alright, asking Romanoff it is,” said Davis, straightening his shoulders and taking a breath. “Knew I should’ve let Paul do this.”

“Tasha really that scary?” asked Clint, dropping down on to the conference table as the door closed behind Davis.

“You have an underdeveloped sense of fear,” said Phil. “As well as your own group of perpetually terrified Agents. One flight of stair too much for you?”

“Was down on eight-four,” Clint said, sliding off the table and into a chair. “Strawb’ry’s over the moon.”

“I can imagine,” said Phil with a small smile even as he squinted at something in a series of photographs before throwing eight crime scene photos on to the holoprojector, the paved area of each highlighted in a red box.

“What does this look like to you?”

“Tyre treads,” said Clint. “But it’s an alley, Boss, that’s hardly an uncommon occurrence.”

“But identical treads across the city?” asked Phil, pulling the photos back so they sat as pinpoints on a map of New York, showing two in Harlem, three in Brooklyn, one in the Bronx and two on Coney Island.

“Not even the taxis would make those sort of trips.”

“Blow the images back up,” said Clint. “We got any of where the bodies were found?”

“Yes?” said Phil, throwing the relevant pictures up, watching Clint carefully as the archer switched his attention between the various images.

“What you seeing?”

“The bodies weren’t dumped,” said Clint. “At least not in the sense that they were thrown haphazard from a vehicle. They were deliberately places in the position of dishonour.”

“Which helps how?” asked Phil, somewhat disconcerted by the way Clint was starting to smile.

“Because, despite the _CSI_ shows Rothman was bitching about last week, people are still of the opinion that wearing gloves and long sleeves will hide their presence from a crime scene,” said Clint. “We’ve got possible DNA transfer.”

“May be,” said Phil. “But DNA degrades over time and exposure.”

“Which is why we’ll take Amira, baby an-Nahr and Samira’s clothing first,” said Clint.

“Alright,” agreed Phil, scribbling down a phone number. “But don’t get your hopes up too far.”

“I hear ya,” said Clint, taking the paper from Phil and digging out his phone.

“And leave Davis alone,” warned Phil as the archer moved for the door. Clint turned to him with a mildly affronted, though mostly confused, look.

“Huh?”

“Don’t start that,” said Phil. “You’ve been protective of Tasha since the day you were handed the Queen of Hearts – Davis doesn’t need that hanging over his shoulder as he speaks to her.”

“JARVIS will be listening,” warned Clint.

“I know,” said Phil. “But JARVIS has slightly more common sense that to shoot people for upsetting his partner. Go, chase you lead and leave Davis be for now.”

“JARVIS?” growled Clint.

“I shall inform you immediately should Agent Davis’ line of questioning cause Ms Romanoff undue harm,” said JARVIS. “For the moment, might I suggest informing Dr Banner and focussing on your own lead?”

Phil had to hide his laugh as Clint sighed and left to do just that.

“Do we need to start calling you Nanny?” he asked of the AI even as he turned his attention back to the photographs.

“Sadly, Agent Coulson, if such was my employment I would have been fired many years ago,” said JARVIS. “And I fear Mr Stark would have been forced to set up living quarters around the naughty step.”

“And share them with Clint,” said Phil, shaking his head. “But, I have this feeling we’d both be completely lost without them.”

“Indeed we would, Agent Coulson,” agreed JARVIS. “You have an incoming call, sir. Agent Epps of the FBI.”

“Patch him through, JARVIS,” said Phil, still not looking up. “Don, you OK?”

* * *

“Agent Barton,” said Detective Gary Giovinazzo, the dayshift supervisor for the New York Crime Lab, as he greeted Clint and Marks at the elevator doors. “What can I do for you?”

“Start by calling me Clint,” replied the archer, shaking the detective’s hand. “Then tell me it’s possible to get DNA from clothing.”

“That would depend on the clothing,” said Giovinazzo, ignoring Clint’s first statement and glancing at Marks. “You get yourself a new handler?”

“No,” said Clint with a chuckle. “Boss just doesn’t trust me to play nice with others at the moment. Gary – Special Agent Paul Marks. Marks – Detective Gary Giovinazzo. DNA?”

“You got the clothing?” asked Giovinazzo. Clint shook his head.

“It’s from the kids who are turning up dead around the City,” he said. “They’re not being dumped so much as placed in the alleys and trash. I’m hoping we’re dealing with stupid lackeys.”

“That wear gloves and t-shirt sleeves,” surmised Giovinazzo. Clint and Marks nodded. Giovinazzo held out an arm to indicate the pair should precede him.

“I know the FBI gets involved with missing kids,” said Giovinazzo. “But I thought that was only if they crossed State lines.”

“This lot have crossed international borders,” said Marks.

“So I should be expected more Feds to be popping up asking questions?” said Giovinazzo, glancing between the two men.

“If they do,” said Clint. “Point them in our direction then stick to no comment.”

“Gotcha,” nodded Giovinazzo, pushing open the door to the evidence locker and flashing his ID to the clerk.

“I need all the clothing evidence from our recent juvenile Jane and John Does,” Giovinazzo said to the clerk before turning back to Clint and Marks. “You want to try being a _little_ more specific on where my people should be looking?”

“I’ll try,” said Clint. “I’ll need the clothing first. You got any manikins the rough size of a teenager?”

“Yeah,” said Giovinazzo. “You wanting to mock up?”

“It’s worked before,” said Clint with a shrug.

“You mean you’ve dragged me down here to do _science_?” asked Marks. Clint laughed even as Giovinazzo signed the evidence log and was apparently trying to decide if he should take offense to Marks’ question.

“No,” said Clint, taking an evidence box from the counter while Giovinazzo handed a second to Marks and collected a third. “That gets left for the people with random letters after their name. We’re just gonna tell them where to look.”

“Still sounds like science,” said Marks. Clint continued to chuckle as Giovinazzo led the way back to the main labs.

“So was our trip to Quantico,” said Clint. “You still took part with a grin. Gary, any chance you can spare a female tech?”

“Why?” asked Giovinazzo, curious.

“Covering all my bases,” said Clint. “One thing this job has taught me, it’s that women can be as violent as men.”

“Point,” agreed Giovinazzo. “We’ll collect Amber and Megan as we pass.”


	19. Chapter 19

Ninety minutes later, Giovinazzo, Clint, Marks and their two commandeered female technicians were standing surrounded by a dozen manikins that had been thrown or placed into various places, the backs, wrists, thighs and backs-of-knees covered in various stripes of red dye in order to highlight potential locations for DNA transfer. Amber and Megan were already chatting excitedly about where they would concentrate their search on the items of clothing while Giovinazzo was finalising the transfer of the photographs he’d been taking throughout the experiment and Marks was desperately trying to find a way to fold his arms that wouldn’t see the dye transfer on to his own clothing. Clint didn’t appear to have the same aversion and was standing with his arms crossed, staring at the scattered manikins apparently lost in thought.

“You OK, buddy?” asked Marks, noticing the archer’s distraction.

“Yeah,” said Clint, half turning towards the FBI Agent. “Sorry, got lost in a memory. And I feel like we’re missing something obvious.”

“Which is why you’ve got yourself a fresh pair of eyes,” said Giovinazzo, stepping over to join them, noticing Clint’s stance with a small laugh. “Clearly, you don’t do your own washing these days.”

 “Huh?”

“White cotton and cochineal dye are not the best of combinations,” said Giovinazzo. Clint shrugged.

“So I have a weird stained t-shirt,” he said. “Wouldn’t be the first time and I’ll find a use for it at some point. Think you’ll be able to get something for us?”

“We will take the clothing apart stitch by stitch if we have to,” promised Giovinazzo. “And you’ll have what results we get soon as they hit my desk.”

“Thanks,” said Clint with a relieved smile. “You got somewhere we can wash up? Boss gets grumpy when he has to have the SUVs detailed.”

“Might even be able to stretch to a fresh shirt,” chuckled Giovinazzo before looking back at his techs. “Ladies, if you would follow please – last thing I need is panicking rookies thinking they’ve come across a blood trail or weird chemical spill.”

“People think this stuff is real?” asked Marks, looking at his hands in bemusement.

“Hence the term _rookie_ ,” griped Giovinazzo. “And currently, I have what seems like way too many of them. Follow me and Barton – stay _away_ from the door handles. You want to wind scientists up, you do it on your own turf.”

“Can’t,” said Clint, looking decidedly put out about the idea even as he obediently kept his arms folded. “Not allowed anywhere near SHIELD labs and Tony and Bruce’s guys are scary when pissed off.”

“Uh-huh,” said Giovinazzo. “Need I remind you how you travelled from Baltimore to New York when SHIELD first hauled you in?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint, his tone so blasé that Megan and Amber both inhaled sharply and waited for their superior to snap at Clint while Marks winced at the mildly disrespectful tone towards the man who was actually doing them an important favour. As it was Giovinazzo merely swiped at Clint’s head, which Clint ducked away from with a grin only to be caught by Giovinazzo’s other hand as he danced in the wrong direction.

“Is there any pie that SHIELD doesn’t have its finger in?” asked Marks, observing the obviously familiar behaviour between the Detective and the archer and coming to the conclusion that theirs was an old friendship (despite the Detective’s apparent reluctance to use Clint’s first name). Giovinazzo laughed even as Clint grinned.

“Only the top level assets are actively sought by SHIELD,” said Giovinazzo, jerking his thumb in Clint’s direction. “With a few exceptions, the rest of us start at the ground and work our way up, same as every other Agency in this country, and several of us take to flirting with burnout long before we either want, or can afford, retirement so the Directorate has to find somewhere to put us. It just so happens that law enforcement is what suits most of us best and, unless he has a damn good reason to keep us in the dark, Colonel Fury lets us in on the loop when he thinks we have something to offer.”

“Huh,” said Marks, looking slightly stumped as Giovinazzo led the way out the elevator towards the locker rooms and showers. “Way Phil talks, it’s like he was recruited after leaving the Army.”

“As I said, there are a few exceptions,” said Giovinazzo. “Phil Coulson and Nick Fury met somewhere in the Iraq during the Iran-Iraq War where the newly minted Captain Coulson physically kept the injured Lieutenant-Colonel Fury from signing himself out the medical tents A.M.A. It made for quite an impression.”

“Physically?” repeated Marks.

“Tied his uninjured hand to the bed,” said Giovinazzo, pushing open the locker room door, Amber and Megan darting for the female stalls while Clint and Marks were pointed in the direction of the male. “Should be fresh t-shirt and sweat pants in the end lockers. Soap’s in the dispensers attached to the wall. Barton, I’ll get a rush put on the results and I’ll call the minute I have them in my hand.”

“Thanks, Gary,” said Clint with a smile and nod before he disappeared into the showers, a mildly bemused Marks following in his wake. Giovinazzo shook his head with a chuckle and turned for the elevator once more, his hand already going for his cell phone and Phil Coulson’s number.

* * *

Clint was met in the communal kitchen by a kiss. While the greeting in and of itself wasn’t an oddity, the fact it was _Natasha_ delivering it – in full view of Tony and Bruce – set alarm bells ringing in Clint’s head.

“Eh……” he said, pulling away and looking startled. “What the hell?”

“From Garcia,” said Tony, striding forward to wrap a possessive arm around his husband. “Thank you for the flowers. Why are you sending Garcia flowers?”

“To brighten up her office,” said Clint. “Keep her smiling.”

“Garcia is always smiling,” said Tony, screwing his nose up at the idea. “And insanely hyper.”

“Uh-huh,” said Clint, twisting out of Tony’s hold and making for the coffee machine, which had been his destination before being ambushed. “And we like to keep her that way. Depressed Garcia is bad news for everyone. I also doubt she told Tasha to kiss me in thanks.”

“I quote,” said Tony. “Someone give my noble Hawk a kiss when he gets home – end quote. She was complaining about not being able to do it herself. Noble Hawk?”

“Worked a case with the BAU ’bout six months after Garcia joined,” said Clint, splashing milk into his cup and digging out the sugar jar. “Case went south, local liaison was trying to pin the reason on me and she heard Boss trying to calm me down. She’s never let it go. Why’d you volunteer for delivery, Tasha?”

“How do you know?” asked Natasha from where she’d retreated into Bruce’s arms.

“Garcia likes things hot,” said Clint. “Least where her men are concerned. That it wasn’t live, deeper and with Tony, I’m going for volunteering. So – why?”

“When last we sat together, things did not end well,” said Natasha, a hand going to fidget with Bruce’s sleeve cuff. “Used excuse to test if all is forgiven.”

“Tasha,” breathed Clint, setting his coffee aside and holding a hand out, tugging his partner close when she accepted the hold.

“What did we swear to each other after that mission to Bolivia?”

“That ours would not be a partnership of debt and repayment,” said Natasha. “That we do what we do because it is right not because of lives or favours owed.”

“So why would this time be any different?” asked Clint. “Super-powered or not, you’re still human – it would concern me more if you _didn’t_ have off days. But, since it’s important to you – all is forgiven and remembered only to protect you in the future. Am I forgiven for my own part?”

“Vsegda,” said Natasha, setting her head against Clint’s shoulder, Bruce smiling at the archer in quiet thanks as they both noticed some of the tension leaving Natasha’s shoulders.

“Now that we’ve got all of that out the way,” said Tony, never one for emotional displays unless he was at the centre of things. “Clint, you want to explain where you’ve been all afternoon and why you’ve come home scarlet from finger to elbow? And not wearing the clothes you left in?”

“Crime Lab,” said Clint, his eyes suddenly bright as he reached around to recollect his coffee mug and led the way to the elevator. “We’ve got possible DNA transfer. Detective Giovinazzo helped me point the techs in the right direction. Marks is updating Phil up in the War Room. Steve been in contact?”

“Not recently,” said Bruce. “Epps did call Phil to have rant about something but Phil hasn’t filled us in yet.”

“So how’d you know it was a rant?” asked Clint.

“Phil kept repeating instructions to calm and slow down,” said Bruce.

“Nothing’s happened has it, JARVIS?” asked Clint.

“The only ill occurrence from the Los Angeles investigation is that Agent Rothman had ended up coming to physical blows with Probationary Agent Lindsey Carpenter,” reported JARVIS.

“Please tell me you can get video of Rothman getting her ass handed to her?” said Tony with a slightly manic grin. Bruce scowled at him.

“Such footage does not appear to be available,” said JARVIS. “The report from Agent Epps states that no more than three points of contacts were made – the initial blow by Agent Rothman, a retaliatory hit from Agent Carpenter and intervention from Agent Epps and Agent Granger.”

“And things were going so well,” said Clint with a groan, thudding his head back against the rear of the elevator car. His three companions looked at him in various levels of question and concern.

“Rothman’s on her way back,” surmised Clint. “Lindsey is Cole’s rookie.”

“She’s staying in a hotel or SHIELD apartment,” said Tony firmly.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” asked Bruce. “At least here, we can keep an eye on her movement and behaviour.”

“All three of our federal friends were warned that their stay here was dependent upon me not having a justifiable reason to have them housed elsewhere,” replied Tony. “Starting fisticuffs with another Agent gives me a reason to kick her out. JARVIS, any indication if Steve’s wanting another backup?”

“No, Sir,” said JARVIS.

“And we’ll keep it that way,” said Phil as the quad entered the War Room, his gaze immediately zeroing in on the staining still decorating Clint’s forearms. “Barton, did you at least _attempt_ to remove the worst of that stain before getting the car?”

“Course I did!” exclaimed Clint as the Avengers took seats around the table, the archer doing his best not to laugh as Davis paled slightly as Natasha chose the seat beside him. “But you know what cochineal dye is like.”

“Which is exactly why I asked,” said Phil. “If there is any trace in the SUV, _you_ are paying for the detail. Now, Agent Rothman will be returning to New York at some point this evening. Agent Sitwell is escorting her to the airport in LA and she will be met in New York by another detail. Tony, I’ve already made arrangements to have her stay in a SHIELD apartment.”

“But she’s still on the case?” asked Bruce.

“Yes,” said Phil, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “She is, however, on probation and thin ice, something that has been made very clear to her. Davis has agreed that Marks should take the lead from an FBI standpoint.”

“Why?” Tony asked curiously. Davis did, after all, specialise in dealing with missing and exploited children on an international scale. It was the whole reason he and Rothman were involved in the case to start with.

“Number of reasons,” said Davis. “None of which are important. All that is essentially changing is which name goes on any paperwork, including any warrants.”

“Works for me,” declared Tony, turning to Clint. “Now, I’m gonna assume Garcia actually did something to deserve the flowers you sent?”

“Because the alternative would make you jealous?” asked Clint with a smirk.

“Very,” said Tony.

“I’ll make it up later,” promised Clint. “Because Garcia is worth her weight in diamonds.”

“Pricey,” commented Davis.

“Uh-huh,” said Clint, throwing ten images up on to the holoprojector. “Everyone else seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Sanders is cash happy?” asked Tony.

“And probably paranoid about having his movements tracked even further,” said Marks. “All ATM withdrawal can tell us is an approximate location. Handing your card over in a store gives away too much information.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Clint, highlighting an additional image in each still. “Still wasn’t what I was meaning.”

“These are all within the last seven days?” asked Phil, taking in the grainy image of the young girl who was currently under guard at Lincoln Memorial.

“Fourteen,” said Clint. “Garcia likes to be thorough when gathering info to hang someone. Amira was found within hours of this being taken.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s about to turn homicidal,” remarked Davis.

“She’s carrying a tin of infant formula like it’s her prized possession,” said Clint. “Her nephew was going to get some food – no way was she going to jeopardise that by acting out in public.”

“It’s a different kid in each shot,” said Marks. “Do we have any more of them?”

“No,” said Clint. “All ten of these kids are still alive somewhere in this city.”

“Garcia left the job half done?” asked Phil with a small smile.

“Bite your tongue,” Clint ordered, moving focus on the images to show what each child was carrying in their arms, each possession carried protectively against their chest.

“Local drug store,” he said. “Basic hygiene products, mainly for the girls. A cheap grocery store – literally bread and milk supplies. A thrift store – couple of blankets and some thick sweaters. I don’t want to think about what these kids are bartering away in return for an hour in the sun and fresh air but whatever they’re being asked to pay it’s worth it. To them at least.”

“We got IDs?” asked Bruce, looking vaguely sick as his imagination supplied him with details on exactly what desperate children could barter away in an attempt to survive.

“Still working on them,” said Clint. “Garcia’s sent the images to the teams we have out in the Middle East and we’re running facial recognition against the database already compiled.”

“Speaking of teams in the Middle East,” said Davis. “I spoke to some of the VCACITF Agents out there, looking for ways the abductors could maintain the delusion that these children are somewhere they aren’t. The news was a little distressing.”

“Meaning what?” asked Tony.

“Meaning that the Syrian War saw a huge movement of Russian troops into Iran, Syria, Egypt and Hezbollah controlled areas of Lebanon,” said Davis. “It would be easy enough to transfer the children between these locations and keep them surrounded by the Russian influence – hence your disjointed Russian note. Put the kids in a military convoy, make sure they only see outside when the differences are minimal then drug them for transport to the US. If they’re being flown in, the drug doesn’t need to keep them out for more than a matter of hours. When they’re eventually brought round again, you make sure they’re still surrounded by the Russian influence.”

“I am _not_ accusing the Russian Army of being involved with this,” said Phil.

“I’m not suggesting that,” said Davis. “What I’m saying is the opportunity is available without actually involving Russia and we are making the very big assumption that because Mostovoi hasn’t been a Russian citizen since 2008, he isn’t involving the people who raised and trained him.”

“We can run finances,” said Tony. “Find out who was posted to the Middle East as part of the Russian Army and whose bank account looks like they’ve been paid to look the other way.”

“Do you realise how dangerous that is?” asked Phil.

“Which is why JARVIS will be doing the checking,” said Tony. “Can’t come after a person who’s technically been dead for the last thirty years. And the signature will be bounced through Skynet.”

“Very well,” said Phil. “But JARVIS? The second it looks like something’s gone wrong, you pull the connection and search, OK?”

“Understood, Agent Coulson,” said JARVIS.

“Dimitri Mostovoi,” said Natasha, her hands clenching on the table as she spoke. “Is he still in Yukon?”

“According to the credit card transactions for the alias Damien Mitrishev, he is,” said JARVIS. “I can use facial recognition to confirm.”

“Please,” said Natasha.

“Clearly _Pallid_ is not copying all of _Shikra’s_ habits,” said Clint.

“No?” said Davis. “Reports I’ve read seem to show a very close similarity.”

“ _Shikra_ was a lot more hands on,” said Clint, his own hand going to the ragged scar on his hip. “And wouldn’t remain thousands of miles away when one of his projects had ended up on national news.”

“We do not know how he works,” said Natasha. “Makes him dangerous. Like spider whose web you see but whose poisonous bite you miss until too late.”

“Boss,” said Clint. “When Rothman gets here, show them Alexei’s autopsy video.”

“You sure?” asked Phil.

“Yes,” said Clint, though he was paling slightly as he spoke. “Tasha, don’t watch it. Bruce, Tony you can make your own decision.”

“It that bad?” asked Bruce. Clint nodded.

“Alexei was the child Sergei Mostovoi killed because of my mission in Russia,” he said, gripping the hand Tony settled over his as he started to fidget. “It’ll give you an idea of just how vicious a man we are dealing with. Boss, give Steve access to the file as well but _only_ Don Epps is to view it with him.”

“And that makes no sense,” said Marks.

“Casey Granger is the same age as Alexei,” said Clint. “The last thing any of us need is for the investigating Agents to become any more emotionally compromised than they already are.”

“And you think Epps will cope?” continued Davis.

“I have no idea,” said Clint. “But the team in LA needs to know the danger this is presenting – Epps is their SAC. Ian and Cole don’t question me if I say the kids are in danger, the less Nikki Betancourt knows about my life the better I feel and Lyndsey is still too green to see the graphic detail.”

“But you want Carolyn Rothman to see it?” asked Phil. “What about Quantico?”

“Out of everyone we have on this, Rothman is the one person who needs to understand the danger the most,” said Clint. “And same as Ian and Cole, the guys at Quantico already accept that I’m not joking when I say that the danger is real and that it is ugly.”

“Alright,” said Phil with a single nod. “Go call Garcia back, see if the two of you can make anything more of the CCTV shots. Paul you work with him. Bruce, Natasha and Davis: you work on the financials of the military personnel who were deployed during the Syrian War – concentrate on the Russian soldiers but don’t ignore the rest. Tony, you and I are going to organise Rothman’s accommodation for when she returns.”

With various murmurs of assent, the four Avengers and their FBI teammates scattered from the War Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translation**  
>  _Vsegda_ \- Always
> 
> **Garcia’s Flowers**  
>  http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8191/8349170953_f9f42e0d94_z.jpg


	20. Chapter 20

“…… _a plate of soil with engine oil's: a super recipe. (I hardly need to mention that it's practically free.)……_ ” Clint was reading as the Imam entered Amira’s room on Friday afternoon. One glance at the girl – who was smiling in contentment – told the Imam that she had no idea what Clint was saying but that she was not distressed by the broken communication. Some medical paraphernalia were still causing her some alarm, as evidenced by Doctor Whyte’s lack of lab-coat and the silenced heart monitor, but Amira was no longer panicked by the mere presence of the machinery or the Doctor.

“As-salaam 'alaykum,” Whyte greeted the Imam, turning away from the machine that was recording Amira’s heart and respiration rate to hold out his right hand. Clint paused in his reading (for which the Imam was thankful, the archer now going on about a jelly made from armadillo’s toes) and turned to offer the Imam a nod of greeting while Amira’s smile grew brighter at the presence of the man.

“Wa 'alaykum salaam,” replied the Imam, accepting the hand he was offered and looking impressed with the Doctor. “You have been practicing.”

“Much to the amusement of my wife,” said Whyte with a rueful smile. The Imam looked mildly confused by the admission.

“I always practice speeches in front of the mirror,” explained Whyte. “Have done since before we were married. She keeps catching me talking to my reflection.”

“Ah,” said the Imam. “I believe the time to become concerned it when your reflection greets you back.”

“So I’ve been told,” said Whyte, glancing at Clint and Amira, both of whom seemed to be patiently waiting for the two men to finish their conversation so they could continue their story.

“One more chapter,” Whyte warned Clint before smiling at Amira, inclining his head to the Imam and departing the room. The archer nodded once and returned to his tale which, thankfully, turned much less grotesque within a couple of lines. Amira continued to lay contentedly against her pillows and fiddled with a loose fold in her top-sheet, completely unafraid of the powerful assassin who was perched on the end of her bed. The Imam, still not recognising what Clint was reading, settled himself in the cushioned chair that Amira’s visitors were _supposed_ to use and allowed himself to become immersed in the highly improbable adventures of an orphaned English schoolboy and his giant garden creature friends.

By the time Clint came to the end of his allowed chapter – which left the residents of the Giant Peach floating somewhere between continental Europe and the Azores – Amira had fallen asleep against her pillows. Clint smiled gently at her and, shutting off the e-reader he had been using, slid from the end of the bed to rearrange the bedding around Amira so she would remain comfortable and warm. He faltered when he moved to sweep Amira’s dark hair from her face – something he had done a hundred times with Ashley and Natasha but was not necessarily suitable to carry out with Amira – and glanced at the Imam. The Imam smiled lightly at him and nodded his permission.

“Do not be so tentative with your actions,” the man chided gently when Clint moved back to sit on the other chair in the room.

“I don’t want to overstep any boundaries,” the archer said, scrubbing the back of his head. “I’ve had ops go wrong because of a cultural misunderstanding that’s destroyed whatever cover we were working with.”

“Were you here to seek any form of romantic relationship, then even your presence within this room would be frowned upon,” said the Imam. “However, I am well aware of your marital status and how happy you and Mr Stark are within that relationship. While I may not agree with your choice of partner, or the activities therefore implied, they have little bearing on the current situation. You treat Amira with the dignity and respect that has been missing from her life for many months. You seek only to have her safe and healing and are doing what you can to aid that. Though, I am glad she cannot understand what you are saying when you are describing such foul sounding food stuffs!”

“That was always my favourite part as a kid,” chuckled Clint. “Drove my Mom nuts when I tried to make some of them.”

“The tale is a favourite one then,” surmised the Imam. Clint nodded.

“My Mom found a copy in a second-hand store when I was five,” he said. “She would read me one chapter a night and she helped me memorise some of the Centipede’s poem for a talent show at school. It was the one thing I was able to grab before the social workers took us to the orphanage.”

“When did you lose it?” asked the Imam, gesturing to the e-reader. Clint shook his head.

“I still have it,” he said. “And it went on every mission I ran before I was assigned to the Avengers. But the writing in it is small so it’s sometimes difficult for me to read, ’specially if I’m in medical myself. Agent Coulson bought me an e-reader the Christmas they came out and had preloaded the book. Electronic means I can make the print a little bigger when I need to – like when I’m reading to someone else.”

“And it stops him from pestering the nursing staff into reading him a bedtime story,” concluded Phil from where he rested in the doorway. “As-salaam 'alaykum, Imam Nasir.”

“Wa 'alaykum salaam,” replied the Imam. “I had not been informed that you also visited Amira.”

“I’ve only been able to make one visit, unfortunately,” said Phil and the regret in his voice sounded genuine. “I have, however, been kept up to date with her progress and I find myself in awe of her spirit and determination.”

“She has spoken of wanting to get well again so she can return to her family,” said the Imam.

“A point on which I have good news,” said Phil. “The SHIELD sponsored visas for her father and sister have been approved. Now it’s just a case of getting them on the right flight.”

“That is delightful news,” smiled the Imam. “Do you have a timetable for their arrival?”

“Couple of days,” said Phil. “The teams on the ground know the transport arrangements better – they said they would let me know when they get to the airport.”

“I shall have rooms prepared for them,” said the Imam. “They shall be my guests.”

“Let me know if there’s anything we can do to help,” said Phil. The Imam inclined his head in acknowledgement before turning back to Clint.

“Will you continue to visit when they arrive?” he asked. “Amira finds your presence to be comfort.”

“I’ll visit as often as I’m allowed,” promised Clint.

“Then allow me to teach you some more of our Scripture,” requested the Imam. “Amira is dismayed that you do not know her favourite.”

“When was the last time I was able to stop you learning?” chuckled Phil when Clint looked to him for permission, the archer trying not to look eager at the thought of learning the passages that would please the child to whom he had appointed himself protector.

“Remain here another hour,” said the Imam as he stood. “I must attend to afternoon prayers. We can begin when I return.”

* * *

Bruce had been unable to watch the full autopsy. Not because he was squeamish – five years working is a frontline medic in whichever third world country took his fancy had long since cured him of that – but because he kept picturing his lover on the table.

Intellectually, Bruce knew that Natasha was alive and physically alright, but emotionally things were not making the same sense. He spent the first half of the video alternating between clenching his fists and gripping Tony’s wrist (the engineer not nearly as calm as he was portraying, his wedding ring held tightly in his own clenched fist) before jerking away with a muffled yelp of pain as the SHIELD medical examiner started his in-depth analysis of the child’s organs. It took less than five minutes into the explanation before he was forced to bolt from the room.

JARVIS caught the ailing physicist in the elevator and calmly guided him down to his apartment and his meditation room. Bruce stumbled where he was led and crumpled to all fours as soon as he was within his safe room, already murmuring to the Hulk that both they and Natasha were safe. Not necessarily whole, or even healthy, but they were safe.

The Hulk was far from convinced, however, having been given the same reassurances about Betty only to be presented with her attached to life support in a hospital bed and General Ross’ anger. He demanded to see Natasha and refused to quieten down until he did, Bruce’s pain and the potential damage to the Tower be damned.

It took twenty minutes for Natasha to make it to her lover’s side, the assassin having been out in the city speaking to the various store owners and staff about Sanders and the children he had been photographed with. When she arrived, the physicist was still curled in the prayer position that formed part of his mediation rituals. The rocking motion and clenching of his hands that Bruce was doing immediately had Natasha reaching for the panic button that would seal the apartment off from the rest of the building, leaving only the vents open.

“Tash……” groaned Bruce before he whined in pain as he heard the reinforced locks engage. He tucked himself smaller as he heard Natasha’s footsteps approach him.

“Moy nezhnyy gigant,” soothed Natasha, settling cross-legged just out of arm’s reach of her lover. Bruce shook his head violently, still fighting to keep the Hulk contained.

“Tash……” he choked again.

“I’m here.”

“Not safe,” Bruce protested.

“The floor’s locked down,” said Natasha. “No one is getting in or out.”

“That’s the problem,” hissed Bruce. “You’re trapped.”

“I’m not,” said Natasha, knowing full well that Bruce had only allowed the installation of the panic button and lockdown protocols because Tony had agreed to keep the vents open, allowing everyone _except_ the Hulk an escape route.

“And you won’t hurt me.”

“He might,” growled Bruce and Natasha noticed the muscles of his arms and shoulders roil as the Hulk sought to be free.

“No,” she said, moving closer to her lover. “He won’t. He doesn’t do it in battle – he’s not going to do it here. Let me speak to him?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s upset,” said Natasha. “And he’s hurting you as a result. Did you watch the full video?”

“I couldn’t,” said Bruce, keening lightly as his shoulders roiled again. “Too painful.”

“Why?” asked Natasha. “I had no connection to the boy. I did not even know about him until Clint begged Phil to retrieve him for burial.”

“I know that,” said Bruce. “Doesn’t stop the pain. Doesn’t mean I didn’t see _you_ laying on that table.”

“Oh Bruce,” breathed Natasha, closing the remaining distance between the pair and, ignoring Bruce’s protests otherwise, wrapped her arms around him.

“He’s angry,” Bruce said, clinging to Natasha in desperation. “He’s scared. Please, moya zhar-ptitsa, you have to leave. I can’t let him hurt you.”

“He won’t,” reassured Natasha. “Let the change happen. We’re safe. Let him see that.”

Bruce let out another pained whimper before his muscles gave a third roil and his skin started to turn green. In less than thirty seconds, the lovers’ positions had gone from a mutual embrace to the Hulk cradling Natasha against his chest, grumbling deep in his throat as he sought to reassure himself of Natasha’s well-being.

“We’re safe,” Natasha repeated again.

“Pain,” said the Hulk. “So much pain. Spider and Hawk in danger. Mates hurting. Scared.”

“I know,” said Natasha, running a hand across the Hulk’s wrist. “We’re hunting an old demon.”

“Hunts at night?” asked the Hulk. Natasha canted her head in question.

“He hunts when it pleases him,” she said.

“So why no sleep?” asked the Hulk, using his pinkie to gently brush the darkening bruise pattern beneath Natasha’s eyes that her makeup no longer covered.

“Because I have innocents to protect,” said Natasha.

“The cubs?” asked the Hulk. Natasha nodded, smiling slightly at the nickname.

“Hawk could not help Alexei,” she said. “He does not want to make the same mistake again. I have to help him.”

“Does Hawk sleep?” asked the Hulk, his finger once more brushing the bruising.

“He has more trust in JARVIS,” said Natasha. The Hulk gave want sounded like a stifled sneeze and shook his head.

“Does not trust computer that much,” he said. “He trusts team and little hawks.”

“The SHIELD security team?” said Natasha, blinking at the description and wondering how the team in question would react to it.

“Baby-Agent in charge,” said the Hulk, dropping his hand so he was better able to cradle Natasha to him again. “Hawk trained from cub to man. You should trust too.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Natasha, amused with the Hulk’s descriptions of Kit and his relationship with Clint. The Hulk grunted and tipped them sideways so they were laying down, Natasha still held against his chest.

“Hawk and family protect cubs. Hulk protect you. You sleep,” he declared.

“I’m not getting a choice am I?” said Natasha with a small smile. The Hulk grunted again and settled so he could stay comfortable for a few hours.

“Safe,” he said. “Sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translations **
> 
> _moy nezhnyy gigant_ – my gentle giant  
>  _moya zhar-ptitsa_ – my fire-bird
> 
> _James and the Giant Peach_ is the work of Roald Dahl and copyright belongs to his estate.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **RE-POST OF CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.** Reading back to earlier chapters, I realised one of my timelines (Sanders) was way off. Apologies.

“Hawk, I’m gonna start this with an apology,” said Giovinazzo when his video conference call was answered on Saturday morning.

“Excuse me?” blinked Clint.

“That promise to give you DNA results soon as I had ‘em?” said Giovinazzo. “I’m not gonna be able to keep it.”

“Meaning what?” asked Clint. “There’s no DNA?”

“Oh, there was DNA,” said Giovinazzo. “Six contributors. What I mean is CODIS spat out three names and addresses when I had two homicide detectives hanging around the labs waiting for results to an unrelated case.”

“And they hijacked the results?” concluded Clint.

“Remember what I said about having way too many rookies?” said Giovinazzo with a sigh. “DNA lab-tech is one of them. Having said that – I have three individuals kicking up a fuss down at the precinct. Any chance I can get a delivery address for them?”

“Which precinct?” Phil asked, scrolling through something on the imbedded StarkPad in front of him.

“One’s at the 41st,” said Giovinazzo. “Other two are at the 94th.”

“OK, I’ve just sent you IDs for the SHIELD team that’s en route to collect them,” said Phil. “First two are heading to 41st, the others are heading for 94th. Can you pass them to the relevant officers?”

“This case really has the lot of you riled, hasn’t it?” remarked Giovinazzo even as he flicked through something on his own tablet.

“Personal doesn’t _begin_ to cut it,” said Clint. “CODIS hits mean records – you gonna let us in on what they say?”

“You know, I don’t remember you being nearly this snarky,” said Giovinazzo, even as the main screen split to show both the detective and a mug-shot of who he was talking about while the conference table StarkPads provided the full report.

“OK, first guy is Carlton Salazar – he’s the guy cooling his heels at the 41st. Thirty-eight year old Brooklyn native. Has a string of petty crimes, ranging from B&E to possession. Far as I can make out, physically hurting anyone beyond himself was never his game plan.”

“So how’d he end up in CODIS?” asked Davis.

“Had the unfortunate luck to have been caught in three separate NYPD raids,” said Giovinazzo. “Was arrested for possession at each one and the B&E charges were linked to him soon as his prints hit the database first time around. Last arrest was for an attempted mugging where his ego was apparently much bigger than his physical strength. Judge in the case finally had enough and sentenced him to three-and-a-half years in prison – he got out in February, after serving the full sentence.”

“And now he’s graduated to body disposal?” asked Marks, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Either he’s damn good at covering his tracks on more serious crimes or we’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Or someone’s got a hold over him,” said Phil. “What about the two down at 94th?”

“Melinda Walker,” said Giovinazzo as the files and mug-shots switched out. “Thirty-two years old, born in Vermont but parents moved to the Bronx when she was three. Has six counts of auto theft to her name, starting when she was sixteen. All totalled, she spent seven years in minimum security and, same as Salazar, hurting others in a physical sense was never the goal – she stole cars parked in streets or parking lots and actually becomes angry if you ask why she didn’t car-jack.”

“Sounds like you heard that defence first hand,” remarked Phil.

“I was the one who asked the question following her third bust back in ’06,” said Giovinazzo with a shrug. “What can I say, I was curious as to why she would go for the more complicated option. Anyway, she’s been clean for the last eighteen months.”

“Clean?” repeated Clint, his head shooting up. “The dumping of nearly thirty teenagers is _clean_?!”

“Clint,” warned Phil even as Giovinazzo shook his head.

“We can only tie her to six of the bodies,” he said. “The six most recent bodies, including the two survivors. For the eighteen months before that however, not a charge or caution to her name.”

“Only six?” asked Clint, weakly.

“Hawk, even linking her to one person gets us reason to get her in an interrogation room,” said Phil.

“You know the one thing Amira’s been asking me since she woke up?” asked Clint, his voice becoming distraught. “She’s been asking me _why_? Why was she kidnapped; why was she dragged 6000 miles from home; why did the people who took her use her for experiments; why do I care when everyone else she’s met has ignored her pleas for help?”

“And we’ll find her answers,” said Marks. “Walker and Salazar won’t be able to give us all of them but at least we have a starting point.”

“As for why you care,” said Phil, sharing a small smile of remembrance with Giovinazzo. “You’ve been doing that since before we met you and I’m more concerned when you _aren’t_ doing everything you can to protect those weaker that yourself.”

“Odd personality trait for an assassin,” remarked Davis.

“It’s what got us Black Widow,” said Phil. “Anyway, Gary you said three arrests?”

“I did,” agreed Giovinazzo, switching around the images again. “And this is the one I would be most concerned about – Martin Ascot who, at the tender age of thirty-one already has a record for assault, two for aggravated robbery and five for pickpocketing.”

“So why isn’t he in jail?” asked Marks.

“Four of the pickpocketing charges were lumped together and got him a fine and probation,” said Giovinazzo. “The fifth refused to press charges after her property was returned – the necklace was of more sentimental than monetary value. The sixth time he tried, however, he was spotted by a have-a-go hero which resulted in the assault charge. He served fifteen months, medium security, and he enjoyed the State’s hospitality so much that within three months of his release he’d racked up the two aggravated robbery charges. He got four years a piece, to be served consecutively, and he was released just after New Year.”

“Walker’s tied to six of these kids,” said Davis as Marks reaching over to switch off the tablet in front of Clint, the archer appearing to be doing his best to memorize the features of their suspects.

“How have you tied Salazar and Ascot?”

“Ascot is on twenty,” said Giovinazzo. “Salazar’s on ten. Of the unknown profiles, one male is on eight, the second male is on four while the female is on three.”

“Send me the profiles,” said Phil. “I’ll see what our databases can make of them.”

“Already done,” said Giovinazzo. “I’ve also sent the body-to-perp ratios, along with the who was found where data.”

“Remind me why SHIELD let you go?” said Phil. Giovinazzo chuckled.

“Director wanted another vantage point in New York,” he said. “Something about aliens always getting lost when looking for the Capital.”

“Which was his excuse for having HQ built here too,” said Phil with his own chuckle. “Thanks for doing this, Gary.”

“No problem,” said Giovinazzo. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

“Will do,” said Phil. Giovinazzo gave a mock, two-fingered salute before the monitor went blank.

“So,” Phil said, turning fully back to the three Agents. “What connects a petty criminal, a car thief and a thug?”

* * *

Diego Hernandez was the best interrogator SHIELD had and he had been involved with the Avengers mission for the last three-and-a-half weeks. Having run out of both questions and luck with the original six detainees, Hernandez was only too happy to take out such misfortune on their three most recent suspects.

“OK, Miss Walker,” said Hernandez, striding into the interrogation room and dropping a baby-blue file folder on the table. “By sheer virtue of the fact I like to work my files in reverse alphabetical order, you get first shot at explaining to me why you thought helping in the disposal of twenty-seven children was a good idea.”

“Now wait a minute, Agent Hernandez,” interjected the lawyer that had accompanied Walker from the 94th Precinct. “It was my understanding that my client’s DNA had only been found on six victims. Two of which are still alive.”

“Her DNA was found on six victims,” said Hernandez, neither confirming nor denying the speculation that Amira and her nephew were still alive. “She is, however, one of two contributors on each. The second contributor in each case can then been directly linked to several other victims. So I ask again – what made you think helping to throw twenty-seven children _in the trash_ was a good idea?”

“I helped that girl,” said Walker. “And the bastard she was determined to protect. I helped them escape.”

“No,” said Hernandez. “You and Carlton Salazar threw them away like trash. Before that, you and Martin Ascot did the same to the baby’s mother and two others. We’re still working on identifying the man who helped you the first time. What’s even more repulsive is the fact that you denied these children – who had been physically and psychologically abused to the point that a _blind man_ would have been able to tell something was wrong – the simple decency of being buried with respect.”

“They were already dead,” said Walker. “All the ‘respect for the dead’ crap is just that – crap. It’s the relatives and the friends that care but the fact I had bodies to toss shows that there weren’t any of those around to care. Quick, easy and the City pays for any burial if the rats, bugs and raccoons left anything behind.”

“Does it even matter to you that they are human beings?” asked Hernandez. Walker shrugged.

“They were dead by the time I got to see them,” she said. “’cept the last girl but she was so out of it when we moved her, she weren’t gonna stay that way for long.”

“So she got the chance to die alone in an alley?” said Hernandez.

“She weren’t alone,” said Walker. “Saved the baby too. Not that I had much of a choice – stupid bitch wouldn’t let the brat go.”

“Agent Hernandez,” said the lawyer. “Before my client incriminates herself any further, how about we talk about a deal?”

“A deal?” repeated Hernandez.

“My client tells you everything about her involvement and in return she gets minimum sentencing,” said the lawyer. “And is only charged with her involvement for the six cases you have DNA for.”

“Oh, she’ll tell me everything,” said Hernandez. “It’s just a question of when.”

“That sounds like a threat, Agent Hernandez,” said the lawyer. “Anything obtained following such is not admissible in court.”

“Wasn’t a threat,” said Hernandez. “Merely an observation. There is, after all, only so long I can keep Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff away from a material witness in their mission.”

“Then my client has nothing further to add,” said the lawyer.

“Your confidence is inspiring,” said Hernandez, flipping open the file folder he’d brought with him, withdrawing the photographs of the three deceased children Walker had come into contact with and spreading them out so neither the lawyer nor Walker could ignore them.

“Tamwar Hakimi, fourteen years old,” he said, pointing to the relevant picture. “Misbah Tahan, twelve years old; Samira an-Nahr, seventeen years old. It was her son you threw away.”

“Giving me their names ain’t gonna change the fact they were dead by the time I got to see ’em,” said Walker, barely looking at the photographs. Hernandez withdrew the final picture from his file and set it directly in front of Walker.

“Damien Sanders, thirty-six years old,” Hernandez concluded. “Only he didn’t die from torture or neglect. He died from a double gunshot to the back of his head. Did you do that part too or did Ascot pull the trigger? Or was that the deal that the girl made – she gets allowed out of Hell for an hour or so and is allowed enough money to buy a tin of formula but in return she had to kill Sanders?”

“Sanders was weak,” said Walker. “’specially ’round his baby-Momma. He needed got rid of before he got the whole thing sunk.”

“Baby-Momma?” repeated Hernandez. Walker stabbed at the picture of Samira.

“Soon as he met her he went gooey-eyed,” she said. “Fussing over her and the bastard she was carrying.”

“I thought you said you only came into contact with the children when they were already dead,” said Hernandez. Walker shrugged.

“One face blends to another,” she said. “And after hearing it for long enough, you tune out the whining and crying too. Pregnant bitch is kinda hard to miss though.”

“That ‘pregnant bitch’ died because she had been tortured beyond the limits her young body could cope with,” said Hernandez. “If I have the infant’s DNA run against that of your compatriots, is it going to match?”

“Maybe,” shrugged Walker. “She was already knocked up by the time she got to New York – maybe you should be looking at someone from where she started up.”

“Believe me, we are exploring every avenue,” said Hernandez. “Which is how we found you and your buddies. Was it you or the kids that shot Sanders in the back of the head?”

“Son-of-a-bitch was gonna get us found out,” said Walker. “Boss was pissed when she died cause of the birth and made Sanders responsible for keeping the brat alive since he had been so keen to play doting dad before the birth. Prick wanted to take him to a hospital or orphanage but Boss said no.”

“Which explains why he was found in the alley,” said Hernandez, scribbling something on his tablet before collecting up the photos, slipping them back into the file folder.

“Is there anything else you wish to add?” he asked.

“I believe my client has said enough already,” said the lawyer as Walker slouched back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. Hernandez nodded once and stood up.

“Then I am duty bound to inform you that the next person to interrogate you will not be so restrained,” he said. The lawyer gave Hernandez a disdainful look.

“I shall be logging a complaint with your supervisors,” he said. “That is twice you have threatened my client.”

Hernandez gave a dark chuckle.

“That would be the Director and his T.I.C,” he said before turning on his heel and departing the room. Nodding to the two security personnel who were on guard outside the interrogation room, he fished out his phone.

“Phil, get somewhere you can’t be overheard,” he instructed.


	22. Chapter 22

Agent Rothman managed to last until Tuesday before making a play to interview Amira. All her points were correct: the girl was a key witness in the case and may hold the key to resolving it; the girl’s father was now in the country and at her bedside which dealt with the issue of her being a minor; there was no strong religious connection between Islam and Tuesday so Imam Nasir was unlikely to object on those grounds; the way Clint popped in and out of her hospital room like a yoyo meant the girl was able to cope with visitors for a short period of time and; the whole reason Rothman was involved in this case in the first place was her ability to speak Arabic, Amira’s native language.

What Rothman hadn’t counted on was Amira’s stubbornness. The girl outright refused to talk to the woman without Clint in the room, something the FBI Agent had been determined wasn’t going to happen.

“He doesn’t understand you, dear,” Rothman tried to reason, causing Amira to glare at her while her father – Masri Hazem – had shaken his head.

“I don’t think it’s his language abilities she wants,” he said. “In this, I believe Agent Barton understands her perfectly. You want answers to your questions, you allow Agent Barton to be in the room.”

“This is very unorthodox,” said Rothman as she stood and made her way over to the door, finding Clint slightly further down the hall speaking to one of the SHIELD Security Specialists.

“Barton!” she barked and Clint turned just enough so that the FBI Agent was in slightly more than his peripheral vision field.

“Done already?” he asked. “Guess Amira wasn’t the star-witness you were hoping for.”

“I haven’t been able to determine that,” growled Rothman. “Because she is refusing to speak to me without you in there with us. Never mind that you’re as useless as the pot plant on her window ledge.”

“Hey!” snapped the Security Specialist, the man straightening in offense to the statement. Clint waved him down.

“It’s OK, Joel,” he said. “Amira knows I don’t speak Arabic and she doesn’t speak English – the pot plant would have more success of that point.”

“But……” protested the Specialist.

“But Agent Rothman is still under the impression that people only communicate with words,” said Clint.

“So misses 93%?” asked the Specialist, gaping at Rothman. “The FBI doesn’t teach the basics?”

“What the FBI does or does not teach is irrelevant to this conversation,” said Rothman. “Barton, I would like to get some answers today.”

“Say please,” said Clint, digging in his pockets and withdrawing a Bluetooth headset and rollaway StarkPad.

“Now!” snapped Rothman. “And put that away – if you’re going to be in here, you’re at least going to _look_ professional.”

“I am,” said Clint with a low growl of his own. “Headset’s so I can hear a translation, StarkPad’s so Amira and her father can get the same should I need to ask them something.”

“ _I_ am the one conducting this interview,” snapped Rothman. Clint glared at her.

“And _I’m_ the one who she’s comfortable with,” said the archer. “We are doing nothing without her consent and the _second_ she starts to become overwrought we’re ending the interview.”

“I am perfectly capable of dealing with traumatised witnesses and victims, Agent Barton,” said Rothman. Clint snorted in derision.

“You can’t get one hospital bound fifteen-year-old to trust you’re here to help,” he said. “The _second_ she becomes to distressed, we end the interview.”

“Fine!” snarled Rothman. “Get in there so we can at least get _something_ from all this.”

“And you will leave that tone and attitude out here,” said Clint, appearing to do just that as he moved past Rothman and greeting Amira and her father, the girl breaking into a relieved smile as Clint settled in what was now his customary perch at the end of her bed.

“I have a new toy,” Clint said, holding up the StarkPad and Bluetooth headset. He snagged the clipboard from the end of Amira’s bed and spread out the rollaway, setting it on Amira’s blanket shrouded lap with the translation software already running.

“It means I get to hear what you’re saying in English while _you_ can read what I’m saying to you in Arabic. Is it working properly?”

“I think so,” came the computer generated voice into Clint’s ear. Clint smiled his delight and glanced to Masri.

“The software will translate everything said in this room until I switch it off again,” he said. “It will not translate anything said outside of it. It will also record everything that’s said so that we don’t have to keep repeating things. Has Agent Rothman explained why we’re here?”

“You need help,” said Amira. “I might know something that can catch the people who hurt us.”

“And you understand what that means?” said Clint. Rothman scoffed behind him while Amira’s fingers twitched around the clipboard.

“As you have already stated, she’s fifteen-years-old,” said Rothman. “Of course she understands what that means.”

“Can you tell me?” asked Clint, sending a glare in Rothman’s direction.

“You want to know what happened,” Amira said. “Everything I remember.”

“And that you can ask us to stop at any time,” said Clint. “I know how scary the memories are. You are incredibly brave to do this and I am here to help you every step.”

“Thank you,” smiled Amira, which Rothman took as her cue to retake control of the interview.

* * *

For the last nineteen years, Clint had been convinced that the only good thing that came out of Russia was Natasha. Everything else was classed as blood, demon or ghost, none of which he wanted to revisit. It was odd, then, that as he sat listening to Amira chokingly recant her story of kidnap and torture, the archer found himself thankful for the betrayal that led to the worst sixteen days of his life. Not because it made him able to understand the torture she has been through – the people who caught him seemed to prefer using him as a punching bag rather than a guinea pig – but because that decades old betrayal meant he was strong enough to listen to Amira’s tale of beatings and starvation. Of constant traveling and never being allowed to see the sun. Of angry voices, always shouting and never in a language she understood. Of bone-deep cold, fear and pain as she was drugged again and again, never waking to the place she’d fallen asleep. Of desperate prayers that someone would find and help them.

Masri sat quietly cradling his daughter as completely as the various medical tubes and cables allowed, a tear occasionally slipping down his cheek as Amira spoke. Clint’s own expression danced between pain, sympathy and anger as he listened, not overtly enough that it side-tracked Amira but enough that she knew she was finally being listened to. Rothman sat with an expression of stone, not responding visually to what Amira was telling them and ploughing ahead with the interview, apparently deaf and blind to Amira and Masri’s body language.

The interview was eventually stopped by Dr Whyte who had taken one look at the pattern of cardiac and respiratory spikes on the monitors at the nurse’s station and took an instant dislike to what he saw.

“No more questions,” he instructed, his tone daring someone to argue with him. Rothman turned to do exactly that in a hiss while Clint’s shoulders slumped forward. He made sure to smile gently at Amira as they did so, needing to make sure the child understood it was in relief not disappointment.

“You are one of the bravest people I have ever met,” he said, ignoring the argument that was happening beside him.

“Did I help?” asked Amira, her voice more timid and scared now than at any point during the interview.

“More than you realise,” said Clint, moving up the bed to tuck an errant lock of Amira’s hair behind her ear, receiving a shaky smile in return.

“Sleep now,” Clint said, pulling back. He nodded his thanks to Masri before sliding off the bed and grabbed Rothman’s elbow, dragging her from the room.

“Are you trying to prolong her torment?” asked Rothman when they were out of earshot of Amira’s room, yanking her elbow from Clint’s grasp. “By not arguing with the doctor, you are leaving her with half a Band-Aid and doing nothing but tugging on it! Or is that how you prove to yourself that you’re a ‘hero’?”

“Dr Whyte didn’t have to agree to us conducting an interview,” said Clint, rolling his shoulders before folding his arms. “Arguing with him would just see him revoke was tenuous permission we have and Amira’s left with searing wounds that will take far longer to heal than if we do this slowly, gently and _remember she is a witness_.”

“Who has the answers to saving dozens of others!” snapped back Rothman. “Can you at least _act_ like they are as important as she is?”

“I have never forgotten that,” hissed Clint, his eyes flashing with anger. “Nor have I forgotten that I share responsibility for Amira’s injuries, the forty-three dead and the orphan-boy downstairs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go make use of what Amira has given us so that I can at least _start_ to make amends.”

With that, Clint turned on his heal and stalked out the ICU, already switching headsets and calling JARVIS to make sure the interview with Amira had been uploaded into the Tower servers.

“It would be _very_ unwise to stir up the demons he carries,” said one of the SHIELD Security Specialists from behind Rothman. “No one but Hawkeye and the Black Widow knows exactly what happened the night he brought her in.”

“Yet all of you seem determined to protect them,” said Rothman. “To the point of outright ignoring the law and common sense!”

“Because they’re worth the risk,” said the Specialist before moving off down the hall and greeting the duty nurse and his fellow with a grin.

Rothman huffed and turned to stalk down the corridor after Clint.

* * *

Unofficially, Strike Team Delta had been retired the day Clint had received his orders to guard Erik Selvig and the Tesseract Project. That retirement became official when Hawkeye and Black Widow were assigned to the Avengers while Phil was _supposed_ to take charge of a Mobile Command Team. Steve and Tony had argued against that decision, heavily questioning the logic of the move when the Avengers had only come together against Loki in a desperate attempt to make Phil’s ‘death’ actually mean something. Fury had seen sense – after a fashion – and had assigned Phil as the Avengers-SHIELD Liaison. Retirement, however, had done nothing to the seamless and almost telepathic teamwork between the trio, something they were once again demonstrating in the War Room.

Natasha had acquiesced to the request that she not listen to Amira’s interview until both Clint and Phil were with her, the still remaining questions from her own history with Red Room and the Mostovoi bastards making both men somewhat reluctant to subject her to the tales of yet more violence without support. As JARVIS relayed the interview, the three veteran Agents appeared to dance around each other, knowing instinctively which of the trio to sandwich (Clint when Amira spoke of being drugged and strapped down to a wooden plank) who to allow the possibility of escape (Natasha as she heard of list of increasingly violent assaults, apparently a protracted endeavour to test pain thresholds) and who to physically reassure whether by a brushing of shoulders or gripping of a wrist (Phil had needed both as he listened to Amira tell of her desperate pleas and slowly dying hope of receiving an answer).

Kit, Tony and Bruce did their best to keep up with the trio that was becoming increasingly tunnel-visioned as they jumped between Amira’s interview, the interrogations of the eleven individuals in SHIELD custody, street maps of New York an LA and various international political and geographical maps. Eventually, however, the three men had to admit defeat as they lost the thread of evidence and quietly retreated, Tony and Bruce headed for the kitchen while Kit went to hunt out blankets, isotonic fluids and trail-mix, the young Captain knowing all at well the futility of trying to persuade any of Strike Team Delta to stop and rest before they had reached the end of their evidence trail. He only hoped they would find the answers and clues they were looking for.

“JARVIS, you have a record of their endurance level?” Kit asked as he made his way to the storage facilities on Level 65.

“Yes, Captain,” said JARVIS.

“Can you monitor them?” asked Kit. “Shut the feeds down when they reach critical?”

“I shall,” agreed JARVIS. “I will also keep Drs Coulson and Banner appraised of their respective conditions.”

“And Tony,” said Kit.

“That was a given, Captain,” said JARVIS a little reprovingly and Kit couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped.

“I supposed it was,” he said. “Can you filter the data into the conference room on Level 64? It’s unlikely but I’d like to make sure Delta doesn’t miss anything.”

“Information feeds available upon your request, Captain,” replied JARVIS. “However, Miss Ashley is currently insisting that you join the family in the communal kitchen for stir-fry.”

“Stir-fry sounds great,” said Kit, grabbing the two packs he had made up and making a note to make sure they actually got to the War Room rather than just the elevator car.

* * *

Trail-mix and isotonic fluids could only sustain a person for so long, especially when they had the high metabolism Natasha and Clint did. When Steve returned to the Tower around 3am, having received an update from both Tony and JARVIS, his first stop was the kitchen to make a plate of sandwiches and heat up what remained of the stir-fry. His intention had been to get the trio to eat something then persuade them to bed down for some rest, even if they didn’t actually sleep. When he entered the War Room to find Natasha twisting her RTIF bracelet around her wrist, Clint clenching his fist around his wedding band and Phil his silver shield, Steve decided to let them run until they neared collapse.

“Break it down for me, Agents,” he said, setting the food on the table and settling himself in one of the chairs, making a point of selecting one of the sandwiches as he took in the confusing swirl of colour that danced above the conference table.

“Captain?” asked Clint, blinking at the man. “LA?”

“Sitwell and Epps have everything under control,” he said. “We decided I’d be of more use here. So, what we got?”

“The reason we have no footage or reports of kids being seen around the Ports,” said Phil. “Is that they aren’t making it to land. In Newark at least.”

“Evidence?” asked Steve, just managing to catch his wince as he realised how much of the FBI was colouring his speech pattern. Phil smiled weakly in the recognition while Clint dropped his ring and enlarged the eastern coast of the US on the projector, Natasha throwing up the mug-shots of Fabio Cassano and José Sanchez.

“Two longshoremen,” said Natasha. “Who, despite working in two separate ports _and_ states, obviously know each other. Totowa is small compared to New York but I do not believe that a town of eleven thousand is the only link between them.”

“Part of their jobs,” continued Clint. “Is to make sure that the right container is in the right place at the right time.”

“Like Johnstone across in LA?” asked Steve.

“Not completely sure on that one,” said Clint. “But I doubt either of these two were high enough on the food chain to influence that kina thing.”

“So why hasn’t anyone been caught?” asked Steve. “I know Newark-Elizabeth is a major port but of one company to miss on randomised inspections _seven_ times is a little suspect.”

“Which is why we took things from a difference angle,” said Phil, reaching over for one of the bowls of stir-fry and making a point of redirecting his assets’ attention to the food.

“Rather than the ports working as a main and backup arrangement, we looked at what happened when the two ports worked together.”

“Which was?” said Steve, sending Clint the same look Pepper gave Ashley when the child was being fussy about her vegetables. Natasha laughed lightly when Clint picked a sandwich of his own.

“A rather disturbing picture,” said Phil. “Every container that lands at Newark-Elizabeth is required to have a black-box style device on board. If a container doesn’t have a ‘passport’ it is permitted to land and it stays on the ship. Data includes a GPS record and authentication codes from anywhere the containers been landed and the technology is available. Download to the servers at Newark-Elizabeth is automatic and starts when the ship and container comes within twenty miles of the port. Port Authorities can access any records from the Control Tower.”

“Random searches are not so random?” questioned Steve. Phil nodded.

“Making is possible that the containers _have_ been subjected to searches just as randomly as any other and there’s never been any red flag,” said the senior Agent.

“Meaning what?” asked Steve.

“Very high possibility that Port of Wilmington is involved too,” said Clint with a growl as he rearranged the map to show all three maritime districts as well as a land route that crossed the entire State of New Jersey.

“That’s where baby an-Nahr was born,” he said. “That’s where Samira was killed.”

“What makes you so sure?” asked Steve as Natasha gathered Clint’s hand in her own.

“Amira,” said Clint. “She said she was pushed into a room with Samira when she went into labour. It was the first time in ten months they’d seen each other. Samira had been separate from the others so their captors didn’t know they were related.”

“Would explain why she’s so protective of the boy,” said Steve. “But why are the dead showing up in New York?”

“You don’t dump the trash in your own background,” said Natasha. Steve stared at her while Clint’s expression twisted into snarls of rage.

“Can you qualify that?” asked Steve.

“If you want to commit a crime, and get away with it, you have two options,” said Natasha. “You either commit it by-proxy – you call the shots but someone else does all the work and ends up taking the fall if caught – or you commit it away from home, in a place you have no connection and by the time the investigation catches up, you’re long gone or have developed an alibi so strong it creates too much doubt to play for a conviction.”

“That’s risky,” said Steve.

“It’s effective,” said Phil with a resigned sigh. “The London serial killer Jack the Ripper went unidentified for 125 years. Ted Bundy worked over such a large geographical area and made so many slight adaptations to his methodology that he managed to kill at least 30 people before he was caught. George Foyet deliberately injected himself into the investigation of his murders as a lone-survivor victim.”

“Are you suggesting we look at this like we’re dealing with an organised serial killer?” asked Steve.

“I’m beginning to think we have no other choice,” replied Phil.

* * *

“So does this help us or have we just wasted the last month barking up the wrong trees?” asked Tony when Phil presented their conclusions later that morning.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” said Phil. “What I do know is that we need to check out Port of Wilmington.”

“And ‘we’ would be?” asked Tony.

“You and Natasha,” said Phil. “Same story as when you went to Newark-Elizabeth and Port of Richmond.”

“Ergh,” complained Tony, turning to look at Clint. “Soon as this is over, we’re making _you_ my assistant. Business trips are not nearly as much fun with Ms Rushman.”

“And that would be why you still have a company,” said Clint with a tired smile. “Kit’s going with you as well.”

“Which is being explained how?” asked Tony.

“Bodyguard,” said Clint. “Because of threats make against you following your AIM-directed aggression in Syria a couple weeks ago.”

“Threats?!” exclaimed Tony, though no one bought the alarmed expression that crossed his face.

“Fabrication,” said Phil. “But authentic enough should someone want to dig deeper into the cover.”

“So he’s a shadow?” asked Tony. “How’s that gonna help?”

“He’s a Hawkeye trained shadow,” said Phil. “Let him worry about those details.”

“Fine,” said Tony, standing up. “We leave after lunch. Ms Rushman, I suggest you get some sleep otherwise your makeup is going to look very unprofessional.”

“Late teleconference with developers in Hong Kong,” said Natasha. “ _Someone_ blew it off to spend ‘quality time’ with his husband.”

“What a fantastic idea,” grinned Tony, turning to offer Clint his hand. Clint accepted with another sleeping smile and allowing Tony to pull him up, turning to face Phil even as he settled his head against Tony’s shoulder. Phil nodded.

“Get some rest,” the Senior Agent instructed, making sure to look at Natasha as well. “ _Providing_ Dr Whyte agrees, you and Agent Rothman need to go back and finish Amira’s interview.”

“I’m starting to rethink this whole assistant’s position,” said Clint even as he offered Phil a mock salute in agreement while Bruce dropped a kiss to Natasha’s palm before Tony pulled her up into his other side.

“In which case I believe you require an interview,” said Tony, shepherding both Clint and Natasha out the War Room. Steve watched them go with a small smile before turning an almost stony expression to Phil and Bruce.

“I don’t think we can keep ignoring the Red Room element of this investigation,” he said.

“You think he’ll be able to help?” asked Phil. Bruce cocked his head in question as to who _he_ was but remained silent.

“I don’t think it’s an assumption we can afford to make,” said Steve. Phil nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “But you take Bruce and Zhang as backup. Everything else is your discretion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go update Fury.”

With that, Phil gathered up his tablet and notebook and left the War Room, leaving Bruce to turn questioningly to Steve.

“Who we going to see?” he asked.

“The only other person we know to have defected from Red Room,” said Steve. “The Winter Solider.”


	23. Chapter 23

The ‘interview’ between Clint and Tony consisted of the archer stripping to his shorts and t-shirt and stealing a few kisses from his husband before curling up with Natasha in the middle of the bed. Tony had muttered something about having other people to interview before making his final decision but that Clint’s candidacy looked promising. Natasha snorted at the comment as she settled back against Clint’s chest, dragging the archer’s arm over her abdomen so she could tangle their fingers together. Tony settled himself against the headboard at Clint’s back, smiling gently as he watched the two assassins lose their battle against sleep now that they were actually horizontal, their breathing falling quickly into sync as they relaxed.

“No interruptions until lunch, J,” said Tony, resting one hand on the nape of Clint’s neck and flicking on his tablet with the other, needing to refresh his memory to the cover story that had been given to the two ports he had already visited. Bruce joined them about an hour later taking up sentry by Natasha’s feet and resting a hand against her ankle. Natasha twitched at the contact, Clint moving to compensate, but quickly settled again as her body recognised the touch as caring.

“Ever thought you were punching way above your weight?” Bruce asked, glancing briefly at Tony but keeping a majority of his attention on the sleeping assassins.

“Every day,” replied Tony, lowering his tablet. “But I’m keeping hush until _he_ decides that too – until then we’re happily married regardless of what the popular press likes suggesting. What’s Agent and Cap got you doing while I borrow your Spider?”

“Visiting the Soldier,” said Bruce, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Tony cocked his head.

“I thought we were calling him James,” he said. “Did I miss another memo?”

“I don’t think so,” said Bruce with a small smile. “You have to remember Steve considers Sergeant Barnes to be a completely different person than The Soldier.”

“And you don’t share that opinion?” asked Tony carefully. “Even though you’ve got your own Red Room graduate?”

“It’s not comparing like with like,” said Bruce. “Without Nataliya Romanova and the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff would not have survived to be found and rescued by Hawkeye. She’s part of the woman I love, same way the Merchant of Death is part of the man I call my best friend. The two of you have managed to adapt and control your darker sides, all the while remaining whole. For his own sanity Barnes had to split his personality into two distinct characters – the Winter Soldier, the Soviet and HYDRA ghost assassin and Sergeant James Barnes, America soldier and Howling Commando.”

“Like Hawkeye and Ronin,” said Tony in understanding.

“Exactly like that,” agreed Bruce. “If we didn’t need Clint to finish his interview with Amira, I’m almost convinced Steve would be taking Clint with him not me.”

“Do not put me in the position of being thankful that a teenage girl is in hospital,” warned Tony. “But, speaking as aforementioned best friend, are you gonna be alright listening to whatever The Soldier has to say?”

“I honestly have no idea,” said Bruce. “I’d greatly appreciate it if you let Tasha keep her cell on.”

“Done,” said Tony. “JARVIS can keep us both updated about Jolly Green and have her back within the hour. I think Thor should go with you too.”

“That’s leaving the kids vulnerable,” said Bruce with a pointed look at their still sleeping assassins. Tony shook his head.

“Balder’s still hanging around,” he said. “He can start making himself useful.”

“We phrasing it like that?” asked Bruce with a smirk – the younger Asgardian had failed to ingratiate himself with Tony and was only tolerated around the Tower for Thor’s sake.

“Was going to phrase it as an order,” said Tony. “If he protests the idea to much, I can have JARVIS show him what happened to the last god who wound up the Other Guy.”

“Thor or Loki?” asked Bruce, his smirk turning into a chuckle.

“Both,” replied Tony. “J, make sure Thor and Balder are at lunch.”

“Certainly, Sir,” said JARVIS. Clint shifted in his sleep in response to the AI but Tony wove his fingers up into the hair just above his hairline, massaging the scalp gently to resettle the younger man. Bruce smile gently at the action, the trust needed for the move and the care with which it was given clearly demonstrating the deep love between the engineer and archer. His smile slipped suddenly and his grip around Natasha’s ankle tightened as his breathing hitched. Tony cocked his head in both curiosity and concern as Natasha again stirred at the grip to her ankle.

“The video,” Bruce said weakly, looking ill. “How did you manage to watch it the whole way though? It could easily have been Clint on that slab.”

“I had no choice,” said Tony, looking upset as he abandoned his tablet and shifted down the bed to rest a hand against Clint’s half exposed hip, the other arm shifting so that he could cradle the archer’s head back against his chest. It was Bruce’s turn to look concerned.

“Of course you had a choice!” he exclaimed. “Just because he’s your husband doesn’t mean you’re obligated to torture yourself.”

“This time I did,” said Tony, swallowing hard to clear the lump in his throat. “I knew about the file, the spotty report from Russia, the medical file that comes with a German-to-English translation.”

“Before we got the mission?” asked Bruce.

“About ten years before,” said Tony. “Found them the day after Hawk fell out his nest. I wanted to know who was snooping around my stuff.”

“Way Pepper tell that story, Phil was stuck talking to her until you and Stane blew the Arc facility.”

“Because _Phil_ looked like you typical G-man,” said Tony. “I’d hoped that he’d get tired and go away if I kept brushing him off. Clint had apparently argued that he could get some of Fury’s answers by hiding in the ventilation. He managed for about three days before he fell out.”

“And you let him stay?” asked Bruce, sounding bemused.

“Kept him where I could see him while I dug out his file,” said Tony. “After that I decided to make him useful ’cause as long as Phil was around, he was gonna keep popping up.”

“But you never went digging further?” asked Bruce, impressed with his friend’s uncharacteristic restraint.

“I genuinely wanted to do the whole ‘getting to know you’ game with him,” said Tony with a pained smile. “Both of us had each other’s files but I don’t think either of us did more than skim read them to get the gist.”

“You wanted a friend,” said Bruce. “Not a government-employed minder.”

“The Agent–Hawkeye package deal meant I got both,” said Tony, his smile turning fond in remembrance even as he tightened his curl around Clint. “I remember being impressed that he’d managed two months undercover and virtually alone in a foreign country. But then I just…… I forgot about the file.”

“You forgot?” repeated Bruce, sounding horrified. Tony nodded, his hand flexing against Clint’s hip, causing the archer to stir in his sleep.

“His job and modern technology meant that after the Arc explosion, I didn’t see him _in person_ for about six months,” said Tony. “By that point, Justin Hammer was trying to get his hands on my tech, the Senate were demanding I hand over the designs for the Iron Man suit so they could keep making Stark weapons, the Palladium core of my own reactor was slowly poisoning me to death and I had _more_ of Fury’s people poking their noses around my stuff. I wouldn’t have told him something was wrong if Pepper hadn’t panicked and called him out to California soon as I’d made her CEO.”

“So in recompense you forced yourself to watch the video?” surmised Bruce. Tony nodded.

“He has so many demons and ghosts that he can’t talk about,” he said. “And I have watch him fight them alone because of that. This was one I knew about but still made him fight alone. I had do watch it all.”

“I’m not alone,” said Clint, startling both scientists as he rolled his head to face Tony. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Proud?” repeated Tony as it the word was foreign to him. The engineer was also completely unable to understand why there was no recrimination in Clint’s voice, something he _knew_ would be in his own if their positions had been reversed.

“Proud,” confirmed Clint, momentarily releasing Natasha’s hand to tangle his fingers with the ones at his hip, bringing Tony’s knuckles up to his lips to kiss them before brining both arms down to wrap around Natasha.

“Gordit'sya,” said Natasha, twisting her own hand so the tangle of fingers went three ways and holding her other hand out to Bruce.

“I’d like it noted that I find it very weird that the two of you are _proud_ that two grown men get upset and antsy about a nineteen-year-old video,” said Tony as the foursome settled into a more comfortable curl.

“Noted,” said Natasha.

“Duly ignored,” said Clint and the two assassins fell back to sleep. Tony and Bruce shared a bemused look over their heads.

“I’m starting to think ‘smartass’ is a SHIELD requisite,” said Tony.

“Then there’s gotta be another reason Fury stopped your official clearance at Consultant,” said Bruce. Hands and feet otherwise occupied or obstructed, Tony settled on glaring at his friend before burrowing his face into the nook between Clint’s shoulder and the pillow, abandoning his tablet to join the pair in their nap, not caring about his cover story with Port of Wilmington.

He could be an eccentric businessman too. Why else would he need Pepper _and_ Natalie to keep him in line?

* * *

The second visit to Amira’s hospital room started with Dr Whyte giving both Clint and Rothman a lecture on what he determined an appropriate change in Amira’s observation scores, primarily her heart and respiratory rates.

“She’s reliving her trauma for no other than reason than she believe it will help save others,” said Whyte. “The _least_ you can do is keep her calm so her physical trauma heals on schedule. You don’t and I’m pulling my agreement to all this and I don’t care how many unanswered questions that leaves you with, understand?”

“Understood, Doc,” said Clint, fishing his Bluetooth earpiece out his pocket along with a packet of photographs. Rothman nodded once, sharply, before turning on her heel and striding into Amira’s room. Clint took a moment to fix his earpiece and take a calming breath before following the FBI Agent. Whyte watched as the archer entered the room, one of the relief SHIELD Security Specialists falling into place at the door a moment later, before he turned to the nurse at the station.

“Page me soon as they’re done,” he instructed. “Or the FBI fluctuates Amira’s obs. too much, whichever’s sooner.”

“Just the FBI?” asked the nurse, raising an eyebrow.

“Only thing Agent Barton wants is for his charges to make it out of here in a better state than when they were admitted,” said Whyte. “Any answers he’s getting are a bonus. Agent Rothman is not so empathetic.”

“FBI it is, Doctor,” said the nurse and Whyte strode off down the ward, the recently relieved SHIELD Specialist falling into step beside him, while inside Amira’s room, Clint was taking firm control of the interview.

“I’m going to show you some pictures,” Clint explained. “I’m going to do it one at a time and I want you to tell me if you recognise them. If you don’t, that’s OK – we just move on to the next picture. If you do, we’ll stop and I want you to tell me everything you remember. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Amira before glancing at Leyla quickly. “Are they dead?”

“No,” said Clint. “SHIELD and the Medical Examiners are working on identifying those bodies. The pictures I’ve got are all alive.”

“Or we just haven’t found their bodies,” interjected Rothman. Clint shot her a foul look.

“They’re alive,” he repeated, selecting the first image and setting it flat on the clipboard, above the rollaway StarkPad.

“Tahir,” said Amira, the fingers of her uninjured arm brushing against the grainy image of a thirteen-year-old boy who was clutching a cheap plastic bag. “He brought us yellow blankets.”

“Where from?” asked Clint. Amira shook her head.

“He just brought them to us one day,” she said. “He said they would help against the cold.”

“Did they?”

“A little,” said Amira. “I only had it for one night – Misbah was sick, she needed it more.”

“Sick like you?” asked Clint. Amira shook her head, a faint flush of embarrassment crossing her cheeks as she shifted her covers. Clint cocked his head and watched as Amira made sure her own body was sufficiently covered while she repeated glanced between Leyla and Rothman, her casted arm resting protectively over her abdomen. He smiled gently.

“I think I understand,” he said, not wanting to force the girl into expanding her description. “Did it help her?”

“I don’t know,” said Amira. “We were split up the next day.”

“OK,” said Clint, selecting another picture and silently praying that Misbah was somewhere among the images.

“Sadiq,” Amira named the second image, this time of a fifteen-year-old boy who was cradling a sack of bread and water protectively against his chest. “The bread was soft, like it was made especially for us.”

“Why does that stand out?” asked Clint. Rothman shot him an exasperated look while Leyla continued her silent observation of the man her sibling had named _Batal_. While Leyla had yet to see any behaviour that would justify the moniker of hero, the way Clint was doing his utmost to cater to Amira’s needs and condition, such as the translation programme on the rollaway tablet and shielding Amira from the cold and impersonal behaviour of Rothman, gave some credence to naming him champion, in the more traditional and courtly definition of the word.

“Why does it matter that the bread was soft or stale?” Rothman asked waspishly, clearly forgetting that the translation software caught more than what Clint said. Leyla and Amira both skimmed their translation and turned curious looks to Clint.

“It matters,” said Clint, his voice containing enough of a growl that showed his annoyance with the FBI Agent but not enough to upset Amira. “Because it gives us a time frame. It matters because it give us information on their kidnappers. It matters because this is Amira’s story to tell and we will give her the courtesy of listening to what she has to say.”

“You going to asked the colour too?” asked Rothman, scathingly.

“White,” said Amira and Clint had to catch his laugh though he didn’t try hiding his smile as Rothman floundered.

“So it was white and soft,” he said, once more tuning Rothman out. “Was it still warm?”

“No,” said Amira, the fingers of her uninjured hand tracing the top of a baguette that was poking out the paper sack Sadiq was carrying. “But the water was.”

* * *

The interview with Amira took around two hours and by its completion, Amira had been able to name five of the children that had been caught on various CCTV cameras around New York. Sadly, Misbah was not among the pictured children but Clint left the room promising he would do everything he could find both Misbah and the other nine children. He wasn’t foolish enough to promise he would find them alive. Jóse Sanchez was now fully implicated in the crime of child trafficking, Amira identifying him as the man who took her from the transport container in Port of Richmond. She identified Michiel Van Coomb as performing a similar role later in her journey but she was completely unsure of a location, only that the second transfer had happened on open water not at a port. Melinda Walker was also now implicated in far more than simply disposing of dead bodies, Amira identifying her as the person who had shoved her into Samira’s ‘birthing room’. If it wasn’t for the fact that hearsay arguments didn’t hold up in a court of law, Clint would be pursuing Walker on a murder charge as well – the medical examiner had been able to determine that Samira’s postpartum haemorrhage was the result of placental retention, something that Amira now identified as being the combined result of Samira’s exhaustion and Walker’s physical assault when a series of particularly strong contractions had caused Samira to scream.

“I just have one more question,” said Clint as he collected the photographs back. “Is there anyone involved in this case that I haven’t shown you or mentioned?”

“Just one,” said Amira. “He was in Iraq.”

“Why do you think he’s involved?” asked Clint.

“Something about him didn’t feel right,” said Amira. “He looked like he was one of us but he didn’t act like it – paid too much attention, especially to the girls. We’re taught to cover ourselves – our arms, our legs, our hair – so that we don’t attract sexual attention but that just seemed to encourage this man.”

“It meant you were no longer children,” said Clint quietly, honestly not sure if he wanted the translation software to pick up his comment. “Would you be able to describe him enough for someone else to draw?”

“May be,” said Amira. Clint smiled at her and found himself fighting the desire to lean forward and kiss Amira’s forehead, a gesture he would mean only as a benediction and thanks but could so wildly be misinterpreted.

“I’ll arrange something with Dr Whyte and your father,” he said instead, slipping off the bed.

“You will not be the artist?” asked Leyla, speaking to Clint directly for the first time. Clint shook his head.

“My four-year-old niece is better at drawing people than I am,” he said. “I do have a teammate that used to be a professional artist though. I can see if he’s able to help?”

Leyla looked between Clint and Amira, taking careful note of Amira’s relaxed body language and the gentle smile both of them were wearing.

“We shall trust the one you choose,” Leyla said. Clint bowed his head in thanks and left the room, Rothman stalking behind him.

“You need to recuse yourself,” Rothman said as Clint removed his earpiece. The archer didn’t bother to hide his sigh as he looked at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re too involved,” said Rothman. Clint rolled his eyes.

“That’s what I do, Rothman,” he said. “The concern is when I _stop_ becoming involved, when I _stop_ becoming affected.”

“And what about her?” asked Rothman. “She’s already dangerously attached to you – what happens when she’s well enough to be discharged, well enough to go back to Iraq? Who’s going to protect her from her nightmares when the man who has set himself up as her knight in shining armour is over 6000 miles away?”

“There are reasons I don’t stay with her when she sleeps,” said Clint. “And getting bored with sitting still isn’t one of them.”

“That hasn’t stopped her thinking of you as some kind of hero!” snapped Rothman.

“My nephews have the same opinion,” said Whyte as he rounded the nurses’ station. “Along with just about every other kid in New York. Now, I can’t speak for those kids but I know my nephews have come to no harm because of that idea. Neither has Amira Masri who, I am happy to report Agent Barton, can be released from ICU at the start of next week.”

“But not the hospital?” asked Clint.

“No,” said Whyte. “She’s still on morphine for her ribs and given her already compromised state, I’d prefer that she at least _start_ the weaning process while she’s somewhere we can help her. I estimate she’ll be here for another week, minimum.”

“But you can’t keep the boy much longer,” said Clint with a sigh, his shoulders slumping forward as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I’m afraid not,” said Whyte, not bothering to question how Clint was able to make the leap from Amira’s ICU release to their needing to put serious consideration into what was going to happen to baby an-Nahr. A fortnight of having SHIELD Security Specialists patrolling both the ICU and the neonatal unit had shown Whyte that the armed shadows saw and heard a lot more than anyone would give them credit for. It stood to reason that their Captain was no different.

“I can keep him until Amira’s moved out of ICU,” said Whyte. “After that I’m sorry.”

“I’ll make some calls,” said Clint, nodding and straightening his shoulders before leaving the ward. Whyte turned to Rothman.

“You would do well to remember who he’s married to,” he said. Rothman looked at him in distain.

“Anyone with eyes and ears knows who he’s married to,” she said.

“And anyone with eyes and ears can see how much Tony Stark loves his husband,” said Whyte. “And those same people would be able to tell you how much Amira and her nephew mean to Agent Barton.”

“Your point is what, Doctor?” asked Rothman.

“You could put one of them on the _moon_ and Barton would still do everything possible to help her,” said Whyte. “Tony Stark would move mountains for his husband – 6000 miles is nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian Translation**  
>  _Gordit'sya_ – proud
> 
> **Arabic translation**  
>  _Batal_ – phonetic translation of بطل meaning hero or champion


	24. Chapter 24

Upon his return from the Lincoln Memorial, having given Phil a cliff-notes debrief on route and had JARVIS download the interview transcript onto his handler’s tablet, Clint had headed immediately for the sub-level archery range that Tony had reinforced to allow the use of explosives without threatening the integrity of the Tower or upsetting the public of New York any more than sharing their city with the Avengers already did. JARVIS set up the training programme to allow Clint enough of a challenge that he was forced to focus but simplistic enough that it allowed the archer to successfully subdue the demon that was currently running around his mind.

Balder appeared halfway through the run to inform him that Ashley was upset that Clint had not visited her upon his return and the young Asgardian quickly realised his interruption was not one of his smartest ideas, Clint turning on him with a violence that Balder had, honestly, not thought possible from a mortal. He wasn’t given much of an opportunity to continue his statement or protest the sudden attack as he was quickly required to defend himself unless he wished injury. Not that he fully believed a single mortal would be able to do much damage to an Asgardian warrior but Thor, Heimdall and the Lady Frigga had all cautioned him that the one known as Hawkeye was a fierce defender of Migard’s younglings and had both the skills of a veteran warrior and the temper and stamina of a she-wolf should those younglings be even threatened with attack.

What Balder _didn’t_ understand was why _he_ was the one that was coming under attack when all he had done was call Hawkeye, and the Avengers at large, to account at the two-score children that lay dead and the countless others that were still among the missing under their watch.

It would be another hour before he was given the opportunity to voice his protest and questions and even that reprieve only came at the appearance of others, notably the Hulk who swung his own temper-driven fist into Balder’s chest and sent the younger Asgardian flying into the wall before turning to his teammate who had dropped to his knees behind him.

“Hawk OK?” the Hulk asked, unsure if he should seeking out one of the Tower’s medical team. He and the Captain were usually the only ones to go hand-to-hand with Thor and even the Prince’s pulled punches were capable leaving bruises. Balder didn’t look like he had been so restraint in his assault.

“I’m OK,” Clint confirmed even as he fought to regain his breath and appeared to be favouring his left arm. Hulk didn’t look entirely convinced with the archer’s assessment but turned back to Balder nonetheless, the younger Asgardian having managed to collect himself and stagger back to his feet.

“Asgardian hospitality stinks,” the Hulk declared. Balder looked offended by the remark but a majority of his expression indicated that he was bemused as to how to deal with the behemoth before him. He was, luckily, saved from having to answer by the arrival of his Prince and the Avenger’s Captain.

“Balder!” barked Thor, striding forward to stand beside the Hulk even as Steve knelt beside Clint and insisted on examining the archer’s arm and ribs.

“You are a _guest_ ,” exclaimed Thor. “Yet JARVIS states you have just spent the last hour fighting one who _owns this Tower_?”

“I merely defended myself,” said Balder. “As you have done so yourself if your fireside tales are true.”

“Nay, Balder,” said Thor. “Yes, I have told of numerous bouts against the Hulk and Captain Rogers but they were nothing but mutually agreed upon sparring bouts. JARVIS does not report the same for your own bout.”

“And does this disembodied spy always tell the truth?” asked Balder.

“It’s an AI,” said Clint before flinching away from Steve’s still probing fingers, the super-solider having pressed against a definitely cracked rib. “Not programmed to lie.”

“Any misinformation gathered is from user error,” continued Steve, gently catching Clint’s retreat with one hand and pulling him back under his touch, continuing up the archer’s ribs and noting each supressed flinch and the pattern of steadily darkening bruising.

“Friend Balder, even without JARVIS’ tale, the evidence of your assault is before our eyes,” said Thor, his expression beseeching Balder to explain his actions.

“All I did was inform Master Hawkeye that his niece was upset that he had not informed her of his return,” said Balder.

“He has just spent the last three and a half hours at the hospital listening to the horrific tale from one of the survivors of our mission,” said Steve, allowing Clint to lower his t-shirt before trading places with the Hulk, the gamma giant needing to reassure himself that their Hawk was alright, while the Captain needed an opportunity to vent a little. “Having spent the previous _fourteen_ hours retracing the footsteps of those unlucky enough to have attracted the attention of Red Room. Tell me, Balder, where would your head be after that kind of exposure?”

“Looking forward,” replied Balder. “Distraction now would only harm those I am seeking to aid.”

“Balder,” cautioned Thor. “While it is true you have seen many a victorious battle, you have no knowledge or experience with the task currently before the Avengers. Have a care when speaking of such.”

“My point, Balder,” said Steve. “Is that for the last twenty-four hours – if not longer – Hawkeye has been immersed in nothing but the horrors of our mission and becoming distracted by those horrors is the _only_ thing that is saving his life right now. Yes, Ashley was a little upset that he didn’t immediately show up in the nursery when he returned but that is _nothing_ in comparison to how she would be if Hawkeye remained as cold-hearted as both you and Agent Rothman apparently want him to act.”

“Captain?” asked Thor, confused by Steve’s impassioned speech even as Clint dropped his chin and focusing on his knees.

“It was part of the deal,” the archer explained, his voice low enough that it would be a fair conclusion to say that he was telling this particular chapter of his history because he _needed_ to not because he _wanted_ to. “If I joined SHIELD, they had to swear to take me out if I became Ronin again.”

“And who is this Ronin?” asked Thor.

“A merc,” said Clint. “A thug. A murderer. The skin I wore for eighteen months after I got thrown out the army for repeatedly disobeying orders in the field.”

“Nay!” denied Thor.

“I was twenty-five,” continued Clint, as if Thor hadn’t spoken. “And all I had to my name was a dishonourable discharge, the clothes I stood up in and a little over $200. Roughed it on the streets for a couple months before I got ‘recruited’ by a local street thug who knew people that knew people. Before I knew what was happening I was running as a gun-for-hire in a world where it weren’t safe to ask too many questions. Ain’t no way I was gonna stain one of the two things I had left of my Mom in a world like that so I called myself Ronin after the samurai warriors that had fallen out of favour with their masters.”

“And you allowed such an individual to become an _Avenger_?” asked Balder in horror, turning to Steve.

“Ronin isn’t an Avenger,” said the Captain sharply. “Hawkeye is. But demons of the past can only lay dormant for so long and you are threatening to destroy some hard-won defences with your demands.”

“Agent’s Soldier,” said the Hulk, earning himself a weak smile from Clint at the comparison.

“And in the last twenty-one years, I’ve never once regretted the decision I made in that warehouse,” said Phil as he made his presence in the arena known. His eyes darted between the four Avengers and their visitor, quickly noting the spider-web cracking in the wall behind them as well as the protective barrier that was half-formed between Clint and Balder.

“How much of a headache is this gonna give me?” he asked with a sigh even as he crouched beside Clint and tipped his head to examine the abrasion to Clint’s temple.

“No headache,” said the Hulk. “Teaching.”

“Uh-huh,” said Phil, glancing at first the Hulk then Steve. “And the truth?”

“Teaching,” repeated Steve. “Think the general theme of the lesson was that you can’t go prodding at a hornets’ nest without expecting to get stung a few times.”

“Alright,” said Phil, shifting his stance so he could help Clint to stand, not missing Clint’s wince as his ribs protested the idea of regaining his feet. “Steve, take Clint upstairs – get those ribs looked at properly. The rest of you stay put and Hulk, I would greatly appreciate it if you could calm down.”

“No promises,” said the Hulk with a smirk in Balder’s direction as Steve wrapped a supporting arm around Clint’s waist. “Hawk OK?”

“I will be, buddy,” said Clint, cradling his ribs. “Go easy on the Tower, yeah?”

“Destruction Iron Man’s job,” agreed the Hulk and appeared to relax when Clint gave an amused chuckle of agreement.

* * *

“You think Agent would forgive me for drop-kicking Balder off the Tower?” asked Tony an hour or so later as he examined the bruises and abrasions that decorated Clint’s chest and face before retrieving the tube of arnica cream from bedside cabinet.

“Thor might object,” said Clint. “And the Hulk.”

“Hulk?” asked Tony, following the curve of Clint’s ribs with the ointment. “Why would he get a say?”

“You’re denying him a shot at fighting an Asgardian,” said Clint. “Two actually.”

“He’s already had that chance,” said Tony, dismissively. “Made a bit of a dent in the wall too. Have half a mind to make Bruce do the repair job.”

“Hulk would just argue that he _could_ have completely destroyed the wall,” said Clint, flinching somewhat violently as Tony inadvertently applied pressure against what had been confirmed as a cracked rib under his bow arm.

“True,” said Tony, shifting to drop a kiss to the stretch of accompanying bruising in silent apology before applying a coat of the gel to the area. “And _what_ nearly sparked the diplomatic incident Agent asked us not to spark?”

“Told me I’d upset Ashely,” replied Clint. “Head wasn’t in anything like the right place to here that kind of criticism.”

“Don’t think your head is _ever_ in the right place to here that,” said Tony. “Which Balder _should_ know by this point. How’d she take seeing you all roughed up?”

“Told her I was sparring,” said Clint, reaching for the stuffed lion at his side and setting the animal’s front paws over his hip. “She gave me a ‘get better’ kiss and told me to take Simba for protection until I’m better again.”

Tony gave the stuffed lion a bemused look.

“Thought that was my job,” he said. Clint chuckled and caught the still gently massaging hand and dropped a kiss to the wrist.

“That’s her point,” he said. “You’ll be too busy watching out for me that you’ll miss the bigger picture. That’s what Simba’s for. Made a point of informing me that Thor had promised both he and Balder would look after her.”

“And you trust them to keep that promise?” asked Tony, raising an eyebrow and pointedly looking at the paint-pallet of bruises Balder had left across his chest.

“Thor yes,” said Clint. “Balder will do what his Prince tells him. If nothing else, they’ll give her time to get herself and Zach to Tasha’s panic room.”

“Let’s hope that’s never tested,” said Tony, shifting so he was able to properly kiss Clint without further compromising him. They broke apart to the archer hissing against a flare of pain and Tony sat up.

“I think that’s a sign that I’ve to leave you and Simba to rest,” said the engineer with a gentle smile. “Probably be a good idea to go debrief Agent too.”

“Why am I not surprised that’s an afterthought for you?” asked Clint with a slightly pained chuckle. Tony snorted lightly and leant forward to steal another kiss before pushing off the bed completely.

“I do have _some_ things in common with my father-in-law,” he said. “Wanting you safe and healthy is more of a priority than a debrief he has another source for. I’ll be back as soon as we’re done.”

“I’ll try stay awake,” said Clint and cocooned himself among the comforter and pillows. Tony gifted him with one last gentle smile before disappearing from the room and Clint, Amira’s voice combining with Alexei’s screams and Sergei Mostovoi’s sadistic laughter in his mind and his injured ribs leaving him with no way to exorcize the resultant demon, suddenly felt cold and desperately alone.

“JARVIS?” he choked out even as he resisted the urge to burrow deeper into the covers. Turning on his side had already sent fire up his side. JARVIS obligingly started to filter Handel’s _Water Music_ through the speakers and dropped multiple holographic screens into Clint’s line of sight, allowing the archer to see his family.

“Thank you,” Clint whispered even as tears started to trickle across his temple and disappear into his hair.

Eventually, he fell into a troubled doze as pain and exhaustion overtook him, Natasha appearing silently to curl around his back as he held Simba tight against his chest and the voices continued to circle.

* * *

“Exactly how certain are we that Red Room and Mostovoi are involved with this?” asked Steve as Tony entered the War Room where the Captain was debriefing his conversation with the Soldier with Phil and Marks.

“If they’re not, someone else is going to a lot of effort to have us think otherwise,” said Phil.

“In which case, I strongly recommend Amira Masri be moved from the Lincoln as soon as possible and that the infant be fostered elsewhere,” said Steve.

“Already looking into the latter,” said Phil.

“Why the urgency?” asked Marks.

“Because as soon as either of them realise that there are survivors on the outside of their scheme, they are in danger again,” said Steve. “If they can’t reclaim them for their own then they will do their utmost to ensure no one else can claim them either.”

“So despite fighting their way out of Hell there is still a death knell sounding over their heads,” said Marks, sounding disgusted at the idea.

“Agent, SHIELD has a Canadian sibling, yes?” said Tony.

“And what would you be proposing if I said yes?” asked Phil.

“That we give their version of Kit the location of Mostovoi or whichever alias he’s using and they pop round for some polite conversation,” replied Tony.

“Which may have the adverse effect of letting Mostovoi know that we’ve discovered the operation and we lose all the remaining children,” said Marks.

“But,” interjected Phil, stalling Tony’s protest. “I will work with the local authorities and Hernandez to see if we can come up with a compromise. And, as secure as the _Angel Dreams_ unit is, I do _not_ recommend bringing Amira here.”

“Clint vetoed that idea back when she was first recovered,” said Tony. “There _is_ the therapeutic respite place that the Maria Stark Foundation operates that might work in its place.”

“Where’s that?” asked Steve.

“Concord,” said Tony, leaning forward to drag a tablet on to his lap and after a few swipes, threw an image up on to the projector. “More than enough space for Amira and her family plus the team that’s been watching her.”

“Wouldn’t that make folks suspicious?” asked Marks. “The family we can explain, the security team will stand out.”

“Maybe,” said Tony with a shrug. “But I’m not about to explain to our assassin twins why we’ve sent Amira out of the state without _any_ sort of protection.”

“And those are Kit’s people watching her,” said Phil. “They’re not likely to easily accept being removed when the job’s only half done.”

“Fair enough,” said Steve. “Dare I ask who will be informing Agent _Rothman_ of this?”

“I will,” said Marks. “That way she’s less able to cry foul.”

“That’s not going to stop her trying,” said Tony with a snort.

“No,” agreed Phil. “But fewer people will listen. Now, Steve, Clint reported that Amira remembers someone from before her abduction that made her uneasy. It may have nothing to do with this mission but I don’t want to take the chance of being wrong. He suggested you be the sketch artist.”

“For someone she hasn’t seen in at least seven months?” asked Marks and Phil could understand his scepticism. Even with the improvement in technology, composite sketches only helped secure an arrest and conviction in 32% of cases and that was before the international element was factored into the problem. Steve and Tony didn’t look so understanding.

“I can still remember the bar I sat in after Bucky fell,” said Steve. “Right down to the label on the whiskey bottle.”

“And not even SHIELD had the right drugs to help me forget Yinsen or the young soldier who wanted a selfie,” said Tony. “That she’s mentioned him means she remembers.”

“I’ll speak to her Doctor,” said Steve before glancing only half apologetically at Tony. “And as cool as your tablets are, Tony, I’ll be using _mine_ for this.”

“If it gets you a lead, I’m not going to complain even if you decided to use slate and chalk,” said Tony before turning to Phil. “Clint is starting to lose it.”

“I know,” sighed Phil, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “And I’m honestly not sure how to stop him going off the deep end this time.”

“Let him arrange for Amira and infant’s alternative accommodations,” suggested Marks.

“How is that going to help?” asked Tony.

“The greatest fear Hawkeye and Widow have in all this is failing the children,” said Marks. “Both in protecting those who are still alive and getting justice for those who have died. By helping arrange their transfer from the Lincoln, Hawkeye’s continuing to keep them safe. It’s the only way he’s going to let them go.”

“Pepper can help him,” said Phil. “Her relative objectivity will be the anchor he needs. For now, go finish playing nurse.”

“That’s got to be the first time you haven’t insisted on a debrief,” remarked Tony even as he stood, not quite trusting Phil to mean his instruction and wanting to make his escape before the other corrected himself. Phil shook his head.

“Already got that from Natasha,” he said. “So far, I don’t have any questions specifically for you.”

“You know where to find me,” said Tony, making good on his escape. Steve glanced at Phil.

“Can I make the suggestion that coordinating the authorities in Yukon be a priority?” said the Captain.

“Trust me, Captain,” said Phil, gathering his notes and tablet in preparation to return to his office. “It already is.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Have you completely lost your minds?!” demanded Hill.

It was mid-Sunday morning and Clint and Natasha had just finished outlining their plan for protecting Amira and the baby to her, Fury, Phil, the Avengers, their FBI compatriots and the SHIELD Watch Commanders for both the East and West Coasts.

“We’ve only caught some of the foot soldiers,” said Clint. “Even Götze is no higher than a Lieutenant. All replaceable, all expendable. To shut this operation down and give the smallest possibility of restarting when the dust is settled and we’re all looking somewhere else, we need to take the head.”

“To do _that_ ,” continued Natasha. “We need to get him out in the open not hiding in a different country under an alias.”

“There are other ways of gaining that attention,” said Hill.

“Short of knocking on his door and announcing our evidence – potentially giving him ammunition to sue for defamation of character _and_ come up with legit-sounding alibis – I’m not sure what else we _could_ do at this point,” said Marks.

“And those victims still held captive?” asked Rothman.

“SAFE Teams have been examining what information we have,” said Fury. “Last report, yesterday afternoon, they were deploying to investigate the movements of several containers Stark, Banner and Professor Epps flagged a few weeks ago. They have authorisation to intercept and seize if they deem it necessary.”

“Getting back to the idiocy that is Barton’s proposal,” interjected Hill.

“Someone is going to make the connection eventually,” said Davis. “This way it’s at least on our terms.”

“Though we shall pass your opinions along to Detective Giovinazzo,” said Natasha, quietly defending her partner. “You do not know Red Room, Director Hill. This is not normal behaviour for one in Dimitri Mostovoi’s position and that makes him both dangerous and difficult to trap. By drawing him out in this way, we can better control the outcome.”

“I want the press release on my desk by tomorrow morning,” instructed Fury, looking at Phil. “This is _not_ a ‘go-for-action’ this is a temporary ‘I’m considering the option’. At the very least, I am authorising _no_ action until the SAFE Teams have reported back from their investigations. Barton, Romanoff, I want you drawing up various assault options with Rosberg and Carpenter for when we actually find where these bastards and the kids are. Whatever the variable, I want a workable solution.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied the assassins and the two Watch Commanders.

“Banner, you’re the expert at hiding in plain sight. Pick a teammate and go over every detail of Delta’s plan for the Masri family,” continued Fury. “Your main objectives are to keep them together _and_ under the radar. Make sure you include at least one of those on guard at the hospital and come up with an alternative if the original suggestion isn’t going to work. The rest of you, keep work on narrowing down the possible matches to the sketch Ms Masri has provided.”

Instructions given, Fury cut his transmission feed, taking the still annoyed looking Hill with him. Tony turned to Phil.

“Why are we letting him give the orders?” he asked, only partly curious as Clint and Natasha divided their notes in the relevant piles, pushing one in Bruce’s direction before gathering up the rest with their tablets.

“Because we’re wanting to use – _are_ using – more personnel than our immediate teams,” said Phil. “That means Fury’s authorisation.”

“JARVIS, transfer the live feed from this room to the open lab on Level 72,” instructed Clint. “And can you request Kit joins us?”

“Of course, Sir,” agreed JARVIS and the two remaining communication channels blinked out. “Do you wish for Captain Baxter to also be contacted?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” agreed Clint.

“Agent Marks?” asked Natasha as she and Clint rose, the archer leaning over to murmur something to Tony even as Bruce gripped her own hand. “Care to join us?”

“Be happy to,” said Marks, gathering his own materials and following the assassins out the War Room.

“Tony, you’re with me,” instructed Phil. “We’ll work on that press release with Jennifer. Between the three of us, we should have some useful contacts.”

“As odd as it sounds,” said Bruce, sending Steve a slightly apologetic look. “I’d like Thor with me on this.”

“I will lend what assistance I can,” said Thor, his expression grave, while Steve gave the physicist a small nod of understanding before turning to the two VCACITF agents.

“Which leaves us to ID our mystery suspect from Iraq,” he said before glancing at Phil. “Progress report at 1900 hours?”

“I’ll inform Commander Rosberg,” said Phil, setting an uncompromising hand on Tony’s shoulder and leading the engineer out the room.

* * *

As a purely theoretical exercise, the multi-faceted plan Clint and Natasha had devised with the help of Detective Giovinazzo and Jaime Zhang was sound. But that was when decisions were made with pieces no more sentient than those on a chess board. When dealing with humans, however, things got decidedly more complicated and it was those complications Fury wanted to at least be aware of before giving his OK to any action. The SHIELD Director was under no illusions that once the ball started rolling, the ride was going to get more than a little bumpy on occasion but he wanted as much prior warning as to when he should hold on tight as was possible. It was with that in mind, Fury made the descent to the Tower that evening to sit in on the progress report, taking with him SAFE Team Captain Dan Gideon.

Neither man was particularly surprised to find that meant the entire Avengers team attended the meeting and both were astute enough to realise their presence was more to access Gideon than to actually catch up with their teammates’ progress. The Avengers had lived, fought and bled together long enough that they trusted each other unequivocally and nowhere was that more obvious that when they were planning and executing a battle plan. What they didn’t trust was that outsiders – even those from SHIELD – were capable of extending that same trust and that meant that, where possible, the temporary additions were assessed _prior_ to any engagement. Fury was honestly surprised that it had only resulted in personnel changes twice in the last six years.

“OK, one at a time,” said Phil after the introductions had been made. “Bruce, we’ll start with you.”

“It would be safer to split Amira and her cousin up,” said Bruce, immediately earning himself a hiss from Natasha and low growl from Clint. Phil shot his charges a warning look before returning his attention back to Bruce.

“Why?” he asked.

“Logistics,” said Bruce. “It’s difficult to hide a minimum of six people, even in New York. Infants, the sick and military have a habit of standing out even when they don’t mean to. Putting them together is _asking_ for trouble.”

“What would you suggest instead?” asked Phil.

“Two teams,” said Bruce. “Two locations.”

“We can fortify one area better than two,” said Natasha.

“Which is what will lead to them being found,” said Bruce gently. “Taking Amira to the respite centre run by the Maria Stark Foundation will keep her in the medical environment she needs to keep recovering and will allow her family to go with her. Taking a comparatively healthy baby into that environment will raise questions.”

“Can’t we pass him off as the family he is?” asked Phil. “It’s not a lie, all that would be potentially changing is the title he has.”

“But it is perpetuating a lie that won’t be fair on Amira,” said Bruce.

“So _how_ do you suggest that we protect them both when they’re 260 miles apart?” asked Clint.

“You don’t try,” said Bruce, earning a definite snarl from Clint while Natasha’s face went dangerously blank. “They’ll be safer if you don’t take _any_ part in their relocation or protection detail.”

“Doc, I’m gonna need that part explained a little,” said Steve, resting a hand gently on Natasha’s forearm while Thor rested one of his own on Clint’s shoulder.

“The moment this hits the media, even if nothing is said explicitly, one of us delivering the statement is going to make it obvious that the Avengers are involved,” said Bruce. “Some have probably already realised that you’ve been spending a significant proportion of that last month at the Lincoln and if you’re seen being involved in the discharge of either – especially Amira – then you are running the very real risk that you place them back in danger.”

“Thor?” Phil asked. “You agree with this?”

“I do,” agreed Thor. “As a battle tactic, dividing the children will see the demon we wish to draw out being forced to similarly divide his forces should he wish to recapture or kill them. In turn, this would see the army we have to face at any given time reduced, increasing our changes of a decisive victory.”

“Anything you can give them to increase their safety?” asked Natasha. Thor inclined his head.

“There are a few things I can think may work,” he said. “I will consult with my mother as to which are the most appropriate.”

“Thank you,” said Natasha even as Clint nodded sharply.

“And, your alternative proposal for the boy is?” prompted Fury.

“Send him undercover,” replied Bruce. “Have one of his guards from the hospital act as his parent.”

“Kayleigh,” interjected Clint. “She gets his biggest smile.”

“They could be set up in a safe house within the city,” continued Bruce with a slight incline of his head in Clint’s direction. “And I would suggest _someone_ gives him a name, be that an official one or merely a cover – a named baby won’t stand out nearly as much as an unnamed one when our target starts putting pieces together.”

“I’ll speak to her father,” said Clint. “After everything she’s given for him, the least Amira deserves is to name her cousin.”

“You’re probably the best person to explain the plan to her as well,” said Phil. “And find out which, if any, of the Security Officers she’s most comfortable with. When is Dr Whyte releasing the boy?”

“Soon as he knows who to release him to,” replied Clint. “He’s realised normal protocol isn’t going to play out but he’s running out of options and excuses.”

“Then you’re going first thing,” said Phil.

“Yes, Boss,” agreed Clint.

“And hopefully give her some good news,” said Fury, turning to Steve. “Captain, have you managed to identify our mystery man?”

“There are a few possibilities,” said Steve, throwing the image up onto the central holo-projector along with the prospective IDs. Gideon swore when he properly registered the file that was outlined in vivid green, the figure 92% floating beside it. It was the highest figure by at least ten percent.

“You know this man?” asked Fury.

“I was the brat’s field-SO,” replied Gideon, very conscious of the fact he now had the attention of everyone in the room and that Steve and Thor were needing to physically restrain their four teammates. “Val Adair. He was a mouthy son-of-a-bitch even then. What’s he accused of?”

“That we’re not completely sure of,” said Phil, quickly cancelling the image that his Assets and their partners were making every effort to memorise, leaving only the composite sketch floating above the table. “All we know is that Amira Masri described someone with his appearance as acting oddly before she was kidnapped. It could be nothing or it could be our case-breaker. However, we can’t make either decision without _him_ to confirm or deny.”

“Good luck finding him,” said Gideon with a mirthless laugh. “Brat disappeared on us back in 2015.”

“Disappeared as in?” prompted Steve.

“Not sure on the details,” said Gideon. “I was transferred to SAFE year after he was field-qualified and my security clearances changed. What I could gather from the scuttlebutt and the mission summaries I _do_ have access to, the team he was with lost all form of communication with him midway through the mission he was on. The portion of the mission he was charged with went south – thankfully not disastrously so – and he failed to meet his team at their extraction point. Hasn’t been so much as a whisper until now.”

“JARVIS,” growled Tony. “Find me the full report.”

“Stark!” barked Fury, causing Tony to level a dangerous look at the Director.

“No,” he said. “As Phil said, this man might be the break we need. To even _start_ finding out where he’s been for the last three years, we need that mission report. The u _n_ redacted version.”

“One day, I _will_ teach you to actually _ask_ for things,” said Fury with a sigh.

“Everyone in this room knows it’s easier to get your forgiveness than your permission,” replied Tony. “Pretty sure it’s one of those basics that gets taught to your rookies.”

“He has you there, Sir,” said Phil, his face completely neutral but those sitting closest could see the smirk dancing in his eyes.

“Getting back to our potential hostile,” said Steve. “There any chance he was turned?”

“There’s always a chance,” agreed Gideon. “But it would have to be one hell of a treasure trove he was offered – guy was almost unnervingly patriotic.”

“Meaning what exactly?” said Steve, very aware that various circles _he_ would fit that description. Given the number of differing interpretations of that ideal, some clarification was justified.

“Meaning he never missed an opportunity to display his red-white-and-blue,” said Gideon. “Was a font of random knowledge on the states – everything from major exports to the top-ten landmarks to historical battles that took place there – had made it his mission to memorise the constitution. He was utterly convinced that America was the superior whatever the subject.”

“So he was proud of his country,” said Tony. “We’ve all been there at one point or another.”

“If we were talking about a person, I’d’ve used the term ‘groupie’,” said Gideon, shaking his head. “Only reason SHIELD actually had him was because he medically failed out the military back in ’02.”

“So if he flipped we’re talking Soldier style brainwashing,” said Clint. “That’s gonna be fun.”

“It’s either that or someone managed to convince him their scheme was in America’s interest,” said Gideon.

“Unfortunately, I can see that working,” said Phil with a sigh. “Especially in 2015.”

“Before the lot of you potentially go hunting the wrong person,” interjected Fury. “Rogers and Barton I want you to present _all_ the potential suspect to Ms Masri. Have _her_ determine if we’re hunting one of our own or not.”

“Yes, Sir,” agreed Steve.

“Barton!” snapped Fury when the archer offered no response, instead concentrating on his tablet.

“Planning for all eventualities, Sir,” replied Clint with a defiant glance up. “92% is a hell of a positive confirmation. Been ordered to take down marks with less than that.”

“Alright,” said Phil quickly. “Bruce and Natasha, go over the mission report and contact the team who filed it. See if there was anything not recorded because it wasn’t, technically, relevant. The rest of us will work out how legitimate the other possibilities are. Steve and Clint, you need to do that _without_ the images so you don’t end up influencing Amira’s answer. For the moment, however, how did your contingency planning with the Watch Commanders go?”

* * *

It was early Monday afternoon before Clint and Steve arrived back at the Lincoln Memorial hospital, both men wanting to flesh out the plan they were charged with delivering before they involved others. Clint was also armed with another packet of photographs – their potential Iraqi-based suspect, as identified by JARVIS and Skynet.

Steve, after a brief reintroduction, went to explain the discharge plan to Dr Whyte, Amira’s father and the two Security Team Leaders while Clint asked his final questions of the child his heart had adopted as a daughter.

“Your description to Steve was brilliant,” he praised from where he, once again, sat on the edge of Amira’s bed even as Amira herself sat in a well-cushioned armchair, still wrapped in blankets and looking a little pale but clearly well on the road to recovery.

“We were able to get it to match ten people,” continued Clint. “You up for looking at another set of pictures?”

“I will look,” agreed Amira, freeing one of her hands from her blanket cocoon. Clint pressed the first picture into it, keeping his own hand covering the image for a moment.

“The same rules as before,” he said. “You don’t recognise them, you say so and we move on. If you do, we stop so you can tell me everything you can remember.”

“OK,” nodded Amira and Clint freed the image, Leyla moving so she could examine the images as well.

In all, Amira recognised two of the ten images as her potential mystery man from Iraq but beyond a general feeling of uneasiness when he was around, she wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what made him stand out in her memory. She looked so distraught about it that Clint moved so he was crouching in front of her, glad that Tony had produced a second headset for the translation program so neither of them had to rely on reading the tablet, gathering up her exposed hand to cradle with his own.

“You have already given me more than I dared hope for,” he said, making sure to meet Amira’s eye. “Even as it hurt and scared you to relive what happened, you kept going because someone else – because _I_ – needed your help. That is the definition of a hero, Amira, and don’t let anyone tell you different. You’ve been brave and strong for long enough, now it’s time to rest and let yourself heal while someone else picks up the task you started.”

“Why are you speaking like you will not be coming back?” asked Leyla from where she had moved to sit at Amira’s pillows. Clint glanced at her, shifting his position so he could look at the two young women without it turning into a tennis rally for any of them.

“Because the day you’re discharged from this hospital will be the last one we see each other until my mission is complete,” said Clint. “The plan is to draw these people into the open which would put you in danger if we were seen together. We have a safe place for you further north and at least two of the guards will be going too but I have to stay here.”

“To find the others?” asked Amira. Clint nodded.

“And to catch those who stole you in the first place,” he said.

“What about the baby?” asked Amira.

“He has to stay here,” said Clint. “You remember Kayleigh?”

“She has a rainbow in her braids,” said Amira. Clint chuckled and nodded.

“That’s her,” he said. “She’s going to look after him for a bit.”

“Will I see him again?” asked Amira and while her voice remained strong, Clint could feel the trembling of her hand.

“While it is within my power to grant it,” he promised. “You will see him again. But we both have to listen to what your family say even if we don’t like what we hear.”

“I understand,” said Amira, taking a steadying breath. Clint smiled gently and glanced between the sisters.

“In my culture, anyone can name a baby,” he said. “And there’s no particular rules as to what that name can be.”

“That’s the father’s right,” said Leyla. “Though he’s supposed to confer with the mother so that they are both happy.”

“What about when the father isn’t able to name their child?” asked Clint.

“They would still take the father’s name,” said Leyla. “But someone else, usually the mother, would give the first name. But that will not be proper with this baby.”

“How so?” asked Clint.

“He is the result of _Zina_ ,” said Leyla. Clint cocked his head.

“ _Zina_?” he repeated.

“Unlawful sexual relations,” translated Leyla and Amira shifted uncomfortably. “A baby from such can _not_ take the father’s name.”

“So whose name does the baby get then?” asked Clint, releasing Amira’s hand as she continued to shift. He retreated back to the end of the bed when the hand was immediately hidden back among the blanket folds.

“They take the mother’s name,” said Leyla.

“an-Nahr?”

“bin-Samir,” corrected Leyla. “Why all these questions?”

“For his safety, we need to register a name for your cousin,” said Clint before looking directly at Amira again. “I was wondering if there was a name you wanted to give him?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Amira, fidgeting slightly in embarrassment as her cheeks took on a light flush.

“Hey,” soothed Clint. “You’ve had more important things to focus on.”

“When do we leave for the north?” asked Leyla.

“Tomorrow,” said Clint and Amira’s breathing hitched. “If Dr Whyte and your father agrees.”

“Then we will spend the remaining time considering the matter,” said Leyla as the nurse arrived with Amira’s medication. Clint nodded and gathered up the photographs before retaking his feet.

“Until tomorrow,” he said and took his leave to search out his captain.


	26. Chapter 26

Mission Report, June 2015, after the initial opening statement of location, objective and completion status (Kobanî, Syria; support the Yekîneyên Parastina Gel militia; failed, respectively) read like an enraged rant.

Choosing to ignore the fact that SHIELD and the WSC had taken a miscalculated stab at influencing the bloody conflict in Middle East that was still sending ripples around the world, Bruce and Natasha divided the contents by the Operatives who complied it before group them by Agent or Specialist.

“And I thought joint research projects were complicate to write up,” remarked Bruce as he and Natasha stood in the middle of the swirling electronic files.

“This is the simplified format,” said Natasha. “When I joined SHIELD every Operative had to complete a full report by hand.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” remarked Bruce, aware of the literal bookshelf of hand written notebooks both he _and_ Tony had in one of the less explosive labs. “Unless you’re a tree.”

“Or dyslexic,” added Natasha. “Or speak a non-native WSC language.”

“Phil was instrumental in getting things changed,” concluded Bruce with a chuckle. Natasha nodded, her expression an odd combination of smug and disappointed. Bruce continued to chuckle as he noticed the expression.

“Why do I get the impression you took advantage of the pitfalls?” he asked. Natasha grinned slightly.

“There were times it was justified,” she said. “And others where it was just plain unavoidable. How do you want to do this?”

“You’re better equipped to know what a Specialist should put in a report,” said Bruce, waving to the blue rimmed file images. “You’d spot anything missing before I did.”

“Clint’s the Specialist,” reminded Natasha. “I’m an Agent.”

“You’re also that man’s big sister,” said Bruce, swiping the relevant files on to a tablet. “You know how to complete the paperwork.”

“Wasn’t really given much choice in the matter,” griped Natasha, accepting the tablet and turning away to the sofa and its crochet afghan, wrapping herself among the folds and tucking into a corner. Bruce smiled gently at the action, collecting his own files and settling at the other sofa arm, taking care to keep his body language open. The two lovers lapsed into a studios quiet, something that forever baffled Tony but rarely failed to bring a smile to Clint’s face.

It became apparent very quickly that Val Adair’s inclusion in the team was not appreciated by _any_ of his fellows and the Team Leader – Eric Markham – had lost no opportunity to have his multiple objections officially recorded. The Specialist Lead – Bobbi Morse – had been equally vocal in her protestations.

“Why wasn’t he just sent home?” asked Bruce in bemusement. “If one of us even _hints_ at protesting someone’s involvement, other options get presented.”

“Because, officially, the Avengers work _with_ rather than _for_ SHIELD,” said Natasha. “That allows us to move the goalposts. Within SHIELD, these things tend to happen _post_ mission.”

“And in this instance that saw over 200 people killed in a terrorist attack,” said Bruce, his eyes flashing green as Hulk snarled. Natasha shifted to wrap her arms around her lover, resting her head against his shoulder. Bruce took a deep breath and twisted around to return the embrace, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Hulk was still annoyed but his snarling gradually simmered down to a low growl.

“That’s where this no longer makes sense,” said Natasha. “The attacks in Kobanî were carried out by a group that routinely declared its intention to kill anyone and everyone who disagreed with them. The USA was among the loudest of those opponents – _why_ would someone who was as reportedly as patriotic as Adair switch sides especially in those circumstances?”

“And why would it be kept quiet if he did?” mused Bruce. “By either side. And _how_ does all this result in Amira seeing him in Iraq?”

“It is possible that he offered up his skills as an intelligence operative,” said Natasha. “SHIELD may be a secret organisation but it’s not a clandestine one – we are known, even if people don’t know what we actually do. He had to have _some_ skills if he was kept around for thirteen years.”

“But sending teenagers to the US to be tortured and used as guinea-pigs?” asked Bruce. “In an operation under the command of a Russian-born Canadian? That was never their MO, even within sleeper cells.”

“Do you think we’ve come across a coincidence and tried to create a link?” mused Natasha.

“It’s a possibility,” said Bruce. “It’s obvious that Adair wasn’t liked by the team he was with. We’ve nothing to say if his foul was deliberate or not, all we have is biased conjecture, but the end result of the mission may have been enough to cause him some serious doubt as to whether SHIELD was the right option. The YPG may have won but 233 dead civilians is hardly a success story. There was enough of a Russian presence in the area at the time he could have found his way to Red Room. From there it’s just a routine deployment south to Iraq, making use of those SHIELD honed skills.”

“He’ll have a new identity,” said Natasha, swiping through the files on her tablet to bring up Adair’s personnel file, zoning in on the list of aliases that the missing operative had used at some point during his tenure. “These will all be void.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s missing following a bloody op, his own part of which was a failure,” said Natasha. “Standard SHIELD protocol would have given him five weeks to make contact. Failure to do so would see him disavowed, at which point any SHIELD known alias, along with any financial assets held under those aliases, are frozen and/or voided.”

“I take it SHIELD has alerts set for when they _are_ used following that?” said Bruce. Natasha nodded. “Any chance we could get those records?”

“I’ll get Phil to make the request,” agreed Natasha.

“JARVIS and Tony are going to be miffed,” said Bruce with a gentle smile.

“Quite the contrary, Dr Banner,” interjected JARVIS. “Polite interaction with the SHIELD servers is often far more profitable than the unauthorised fishing trips Sir often commands. And what Sir does not know, will not harm him.”

“Official channels it is,” chuckled Bruce. “In the meantime, is there any chance of you retrieving Captain Gideon’s file?”

“Agent Coulson anticipated such a request,” said JARVIS. “The link is already available on your tablets.”

Natasha uncurled her afghan cocoon so that she was able to include Bruce as the duo bent their heads to investigate the newest temporary addition to their team.

* * *

Clint was almost completely certain that the only reason Kayleigh Austen didn’t look terrified when he handed down his orders early Tuesday morning was that she was a SHIELD Security Officer and the entire division claimed to have a variation of ‘fear’ as a middle name.

“Who is the external contact?” asked Kayleigh.

“Lieutenant Zhang,” said Clint, handing over a disposable cell phone. “Speed dial two, listed as Jaime.”

“And you, Boss?” continued Kayleigh. Clint shook his head.

“For his safety, only time I will be in contact before the mission is complete is if you have reason to call 911,” he said.

“Can I have it officially noted that I find that part of the plan very weird?” asked Kayleigh, looking up from where she was personalising the phone.

“Coulson can tell you exactly which box to put it in,” replied Clint. “In the meantime, pick a buddy to go under with you.”

“You mean the single mom idea ain’t gonna fly?”

“It would fly where you’re going,” said Clint with a chuckle. “It _won’t_ fly with your buddies. Pick one so I know which four we need to keep otherwise occupied for however long this takes to finish.”

“Jesse,” said Kayleigh after a moment’s though. “We’ve been on opposite shifts; anyone asks we’ve been making sure the boy hasn’t been alone. This safe house set-up for a baby?”

“Under the critical direction of Dr Coulson and Mrs Hogan,” said Clint. “Thom will do one last check-up before he leaves then you’re on your own.”

“Either of them on my speed dial?” asked Kayleigh.

“Thom’s three,” said Clint, holding out a second phone. “Pepper is just in your contact list. Jesse will be one.”

“Little details,” said Kayleigh, seemingly happy with her phones settings as she pocketed both devices. “Keep forgetting how many are needed for undercover.”

“They’re not putting you off are they?”

“Hell, no!” exclaimed Kayleigh. “Just learning a new appreciation for those who do this regularly.”

“Good to hear,” said Clint, glancing at his watch. “Whyte is releasing both parties around noon. That gives you four hours to fill Jesse in before you need to be at the hospital.”

“See ya on the other side, Séig,” Kayleigh said with a nod and a sloppy salute before she disappeared in a swirl of rainbow braids.

“JARVIS, can you inform Officers Kwanten, Oscar, Cartwright and Samson that they’ve to report to the gym on Level 68 once their charges are released from the Lincoln.”

“Very good, Sir,” chimed the AI. “Agents Romanoff and Coulson, along with Mr Stark and Dr Banner are enquiring as to your whereabouts.”

“Tony’s awake?” Clint said with a fond smile. The engineer had been doing a remarkable impression of dead-to-the-world when Clint had extracted himself from his octopus-like embrace to give Kayleigh her briefing.

“Complaining of a cold bed and developing a plan to build a more efficient coffee machine across Agent Coulson’s kitchen table.”

“Using?” Clint asked, wary of the scale of the mess that was about to greet him when he got off the elevator.

“Currently it is mustard,” said JARVIS. “He had already exhausted Agent Coulson’s supply of mayonnaise.”

“And his excuse for not using pen and paper on _this_ occasion is……”

“The contents of Agent Coulson’s cupboards were more readily available,” replied JARVIS. “I have taken the liberty of adding replacements to this week’s grocery order.”

“Remind me how we survived without you, J,” chuckled Clint.

“I believe you once declared such to be the result of bull-headedness, skin-of-your-teeth escapes and sheer dumb luck,” replied JARVIS. “Traits you have not lost but it is nice to be appreciated.”

“You buttering up my AI again?” asked Tony as Clint entered the kitchen.

“As he said – it’s nice to be appreciated,” replied Clint. “I can’t give him upgrades so I flatter him instead. You _do_ remember that table is as old as Steve, yes?”

“It could’ve been worse,” said Bruce from where he stood against the counter, hip-to-hip with Natasha. “First thing he came across was a Sharpie. Condiments at least wash off easily.”

“And this is a plan you’re fully behind anyway,” smirked Clint with a pointed look at the coffee mug in both his and Phil’s hands. Phil raised said utensil in toast to the sentiment before downing its remaining contents.

“SHIELD may have been founded on the principle of protection but it is caffeine that keeps the machine running somewhat smoothly,” Phil said.

“And has been shown to limit the number of boardroom disasters,” continued Natasha, holding out a glass of juice to the archer. “The labs, not so much.”

“Not sure anything can do that,” said Clint, causing Bruce to shrug.

“If the peanut gallery is quite finished,” snarked Tony, finishing his latest detail with a flourish and setting the mustard bottle aside. “JARVIS, scan and save as ‘coffee upgrade’.”

“Does that include the lines on your person?” enquired JARVIS.

“You are a bad influence,” declared Tony, pointing at the grinning Clint who had crossed to the sink to wet a dish towel.

“This is not news,” said Phil. “But I find myself enjoying some of the results of that influence.”

“As do you,” added Clint, clearing Tony’s cheekbone of its mayonnaise war-paint. “You call the most recent example the Mark XXX. Just the table, JARVIS.”

“I’m supposed to be the cool Dad,” griped Tony, seemingly apropos of nothing but Clint chuckled.

“You _are_ the cool Dad,” he said, stealing a kiss once he’d removed the mustard smudge from the tip of Tony’s nose. “There is no way Caspian would have found the courage to touch your suit if you weren’t.”

“Still not as cool as Auntie Nat,” said Natasha with a smirk. Clint grinned while Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and Bruce and Tony’s gazes darted between the Strike Team, obviously looking for the story.

“What did you do?” Tony eventually demanded of Natasha.

“Helped deal with a pest problem,” replied Natasha. Tony looked at her in exasperation.

“ _What_ pest problem?” he asked. “And, more importantly, how did it make you cooler than me?”

“The pest in question was a group of wannabe jocks at the high school the kids from St Nicks attend,” said Phil. “They took to harassing anyone and everyone they felt to ‘uncool’ to fan over teams like the Avengers or the X-Men.”

“Were they catching any of that heat?” asked Bruce in concern. Clint shook his head.

“They talk about _us_ rather than our call-signs,” he said. “Other kids weren’t so lucky.”

“So I helped them get a little payback,” said Natasha. “I’m still not sure teenage boys should be capable of screaming that high.”

“What did you do?” Tony repeated.

“Taught them a few tricks,” said Natasha. “Gave a couple presents.”

“Demonstrated you don’t have the monopoly on foolish decisions,” continued Phil. “Generated unnecessary paperwork to explain why Stings were found at the local high school.”

“Stings?” repeated Bruce while Tony’s eyes widened. Natasha nodded while Clint chuckled into the remains of his orange juice.

“For those who were a little slow on the uptake,” she said.

“Auntie Nat _is_ cool,” Tony grinned and Phil rolled his eyes.

“Whichever god or goddess I pissed off,” he said, his gaze half focussed on the light fixture. “I’m truly and deeply sorry.”

“So you won’t sign off on Amira or Leyla getting a set?” asked Clint with a grin.

* * *

Tuesday evening found the Avengers in the Press Room on Level 53 along with a handpicked crowd of twenty-five journalists and TV crews, who were currently receiving a briefing from Pepper and Jennifer O’Connor, the Avengers’ Press Liaison. Clint stood at the back with Natasha and Bruce – the trio did their best to avoid being associated with the Avengers outside of their field time – his arms still feeling the ghosts of Amira’s farewell embrace and the almost infinitesimal weight of her cousin, who was now known as Shafi. Phil, Agent Davis and Tony were double-checking their notecards to their left, Phil bluntly warning Tony that he was not to deviate from the bullet points regardless of how much that restriction rile him, while Thor and Steve had taken up flanking positions next to the podium, listening carefully to the briefing and both solider and Prince preparing to bodily remove any party who stepped out of bounds.

The purpose of the press conference was two-fold: an appeal for information regarding the man depicted in the composite sketch – a 92% positive ID wasn’t actually helpful if they didn’t know where he was – and to formally announce the connection between the New York and Los Angeles cases. Mostovoi was not to be named and neither were the survivors, statements being worded to make it sound like their information had come from at least one of their eleven detainees and additional investigations.

“Just to be clear,” said Davis when Phil had finished giving his instructions. “This is a good idea?”

“No,” said Phil. “But it’s the best of bad bunch and something needs to be done.”

“I could do this under the auspice of the FBI,” said Davis. “There’s enough evidence that it wouldn’t be a lie.”

“But you’re little more than federal cops,” said Clint. “The people we’re wanting to flush out have been breaking _international_ law for the last year at least, that the FBI had stumbled upon part of the operation isn’t going to rattle the right cages loud enough.”

“Fair enough,” said Davis as Pepper appeared beside them.

“We’re ready for you, gentlemen,” she said.

“Kiss for luck?” asked Tony, turning to Clint. The archer chuckled.

“Like you need an excuse,” he said, tugging the engineer forward to deliver as requested. “Just remember I’m watching when the pretty young reporters start flirting for an exclusive.”

“You know, that’s surprisingly easy when Agent is standing next to me with a loaded weapon,” replied Tony, thankful that Clint grinned in response.

“Just a taser, Mr Stark,” said Phil, tugging his suit jacket straight.

“But he is in desperate need of an excuse to watch the latest season of _Real Housewives_ that he downloaded last night,” continued Pepper, encouraging a chuckle from Bruce while Phil continued to reset the line of his suit.

“We have _got_ to find you a better hobby,” Tony informed him.

“One challenge at a time, Tony,” said Pepper before directing Davis forward and prodding Tony to move in the same direction. Phil paused long enough to share a look with his charges, one that both had long since learnt to translate as ‘trust me’. The two assassins nodded in return, Clint taking the hand Natasha offered out to him as Phil made his way to the podium.

The Press Conference lasted approximately half an hour, Jennifer and Pepper hovering just out of camera shot ready to step in should the wrong question be asked and, glancing around the plethora of reporters – both mainstream and social media – the Avengers were all reasonably certain how the story was going to be reported and came to the conclusion that Director Hill was going to be descending on the Tower. All that remained to be seen was whether it would be the early editions were published or the Press Conference overtook the Breaking News scrolling text that spurred her into action.

Bruce was just glad that a majority appeared to at least be interested in the additional pack they had been given, it containing the names and photographs of the children already identified (Damien Sanders had been added with a little persuasion) as well as the morgue photos of those yet unnamed. Some of the more harrowing details, from both the autopsy results and Amira’s interviews had also been given, though the latter was deliberately out of context. The physicist only hoped that the members of the media who were before them treated the information with the respect and sensitivity it deserved and that the more unscrupulous ones didn’t use it to over sensationalise their stories.

Neither Tony nor Bruce were surprised that their partners needed each other’s comfort that night, the entire team ultimately finding themselves camping out in the communal lounge and each one prepared to fight the again disturbed ghosts and demons.

The fitful sleep was broken by the loud ringing of Phil’s phone at around 6.30am.

Some cages had started to rattle.


	27. Chapter 27

Landing at the joint Army-SHIELD holding facility at Fort Meade roughly two-and-a-half hours later, Clint and Natasha were greeted by a mildly amused Agent Hernandez.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say a big fish talked,” said Clint. Hernandez smirked.

“Not the big fish,” he said. “But I’ve suddenly got this little minnow who isn’t sure how to shut up. In return, all I’ve got to promise is to protect their nearest and dearest until our current hydra has been decapitated. I’m not quite sure what’s set the other one off.”

“And the reason for their sudden desire to talk?” asked Natasha.

“They haven’t actually given one,” said Hernandez. “At least not specifically. If I was to take a guess, however, I’d say something in this morning’s headline spooked ’em. Now, I know I invited you guys in on this but I’ve got a few ground rules that are _not_ optional. Number one – you can threaten all you want but the second you get physical you’re pulled and you’ve lost any visitation. Number two – any information you get goes to Director Coulson before you do anything. Number three – accept and expect to be wound up, you are not strangers to these people and someone is going to go for the weak spot as soon as they can. Number four – everyone in custody has genuinely been arrested under US law, the reason we have them is they are material witnesses as well as guilty parties – someone else will want to play with them eventually, make sure you leave more than just scraps. Any questions?”

“Time limit?” asked Natasha.

“Overall, no,” said Hernandez. “I will call a break every three-and-a-half hours if it’s clear you’re not moving forward.”

“Do they know we’re coming?” asked Clint. “Us, specifically.”

“Not unless their current guards have gotten equally talkative,” replied Hernandez. “You double teaming or switching out?”

“Switching out,” said Natasha. “Keeps them on their toes.”

“Alright,” said Hernandez, holding out two files. “Barton, yours is through door one, Romanoff, your turn is behind door three. I’ll be watching and listening from the observation room between so don’t even _try_ the ‘didn’t even touch ’em’ routine, understand?”

“Understood,” agreed Clint while Natasha nodded.

“Then they are yours to divide and conquer,” said Hernandez before striding into the observation room where he was heard asking for an update before the soundproofing reset. Clint and Natasha exchanged a sharp nod before marching into their assigned interrogation rooms, Natasha smirking lightly as Fabio Cassano paled considerably.

“You know who I am,” she said, taking a seat next to the bored looking Agent Senyaka opposite the smuggler. Cassano nodded and visibly swallowed.

“Then you know what I’m capable of,” continued Natasha. Cassano nodded again. Satisfied, Natasha set the folder Hernandez had given her on the table before sitting back, apparently done with her questions. Both Cassano and Senyaka looked at her, one in mild curiosity, the other in increasing trepidation. After about five minutes or so during which no one had said anything, Natasha stood up, her expression one of utter disappointment.

“I guess Agent Hernandez can cancel the reassignment of his personnel to Totowa,” she said. Cassano looked up in alarm.

“He can’t!” he protested. “He gave his word. He said he’s protect them.”

“That deal was conditional on your talking,” said Natasha. “Yet you haven’t said a word since I opened the door.”

“Please,” begged Cassano, holding out a photo Natasha was honestly surprised he’d been allowed to keep. “My girls have done nothing wrong. I know I ain’t getting out of this but they’ve still got a chance.”

“You should have thought about them _before_ you agreed to help in the kidnap, trafficking and torture of scores of children,” said Natasha, taking her seat again. “Start with how you know me – paling is not the usual reaction I get, even from AIM and HYDRA drones – and go from there or the next time I stand up, I’m walking out that door and I won’t be back.”

“There’s a file,” said Cassano. “I’ve never saw the full thing but there’s at least a dozen pages on you. It’s like a textbook on how you were made.”

“Normally, folk get that in health class,” remarked Senyaka. Cassano shook his head.

“How the Black Widow was made,” he clarified. “Before and after pictures, details on the training they used, the missions you were sent on.”

“And you were shown this file, why?” asked Natasha.

“It was a warning,” said Cassano, gripping the photograph in his hand. “Before I was told to go home, this guy showed up at the diner where some of us go for lunch and gave me the pages. Said if I talked, they’d do the same to my little girl.”

“Then this is a big risk,” remarked Senyaka. “Why you taking it?”

“I get to talk to her,” said Cassano. “It’s one ten-minute call every four days but she sounds like she always did – happy and safe.”

“Something you denied to countless others,” said Natasha. “Fifty of whom we know to be dead.”

“And Satan is waiting to punish me for every single one,” said Cassano. “But you gotta understand, I didn’t know about _any_ of the kids until I was arrested.”

“You really think that matters to them?” asked Natasha. “To the families? The devil you made a deal with was trained to inflict maximum damage with the smallest amount of effort. And you stuck your little girl in their sights the minute you agreed to help, no matter how small your part. Describe the man who gave you the file.”

“Mediterranean,” Cassano said and Senyaka blinked at the somewhat unusual description. “May be couple inches taller than Agent Hernndez but not as muscular. Had a scar across his cheek like someone had tried to give him a Joker smile but only got halfway through.”

“What about his voice?”

“His voice?” repeated Cassano.

“Did he have an accent?” asked Senyaka. “He have a lisp? A slur or stutter? His pitch high or low?”

“Grating,” said Cassano. “Like some smokers get. Sounded like that grey wizard guy in those movies with the dragons and elves.”

“So he was British?” asked Natasha. Cassano shrugged.

“I guess,” he said. “Ain’t ever been to England so can’t say for sure.”

“What about how he was dressed?” asked Senyaka. Cassano blinked.

“Huh?” Senyaka scrubbed a hand over his face and shot Cassano a glare.

“I swear, if I wasn’t fully aware of the evidence damning you, I would be questioning your involvement,” he said. “His clothing – was he in a suit? Jeans? Clean or well past laundry day?”

“Looked just like any number of other dock workers,” replied Cassano. “Stained blue jeans, warm looking hoodie, decent pair of boots. What difference does that make?”

“Whether you have a potential witness or not,” said Senyaka.

“And your credibility will affect just how hard the protection detail works to keep your little girl safe,” continued Natasha. “What was it about this morning’s news story that scared you into talking?”

“I wasn’t scared,” protested Cassano.

“You just grew a conscience,” remarked Natasha, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I was sold a lie,” said Cassano. “And the news this morning showed me how _big_ that lie was. I sit quiet I get nothing and lose everything. I start talking and maybe I take a couple of these people down with me _and_ I can get someone to look out for my girls.”

“Sold a lie?” repeated Natasha. “You expected someone who helped you smuggle drugs would tell the truth?”

“Kids were never mentioned,” said Cassano. “All I was ever asked to do was make sure a specific package from a specific container made it into the hands of a courier.”

“How many packages?” asked Natasha.

“Seven,” said Cassano. “I got fifteen hundred for each one.”

“Care to explain how you bank account doesn’t show that level of activity?” enquired Senyaka.

“Never got deposited,” said Cassano with a shrug. “I married young and I married stupid. When the divorce went through, I promised I’d pay my Mom back every cent she’d given for the ceremony. Used the rest to give my little girl the best vacation of her life. Ain’t never seen her smile so big!”

“How did you recognise the specific package you were to deliver?” asked Natasha.

“Got sent an ID code,” said Cassano. “One for the container, another for the package itself. One of those square ones that look like a maze.”

“That’s far too popular to be effective,” said Senyaka. “And the codes are, graphically, too similar for the human eye to notice the difference.”

“Package always had one side done with orange tape,” replied Cassano, looking at the agent in distain before he was able to rein in the expression. Natasha raised a mildly incredulous eyebrow in return and Cassano paled once more.

“I scanned the code, an app would confirm it was the right one then I’d hand it off to the courier who gave me my money,” he finished in a rush.

“Why you?” asked Natasha. “There were literally thousands of other options, what made you stand out?”

Cassano shrugged.

“Mama taught me not to question good luck,” he said. “Just be thankful that it had come my way.”

“How much did they know about your family?”

“I didn’t tell ’em anything,” said Cassano. “But I think they knew everything possible.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Senyaka.

“Comments that got made by different folks,” said Cassano. “Didn’t tell the courier what I was doing with the money but when he gave me the last packet, he was giving me advice on what rides to take my girl on in Disney World.”

“And you need to describe that guy as well,” said Natasha.

“Why?”

“Because if you want your girls protected,” said Natasha. “We need to know who from.”

Two rooms over, Clint was not having as productive a conversation.

* * *

“Let me guess,” Clint started, dropping his file folder on the table with as much force as was possible for a bundle of paper. “You’re very sorry, didn’t realise what you’d actually gotten yourself involved with and are now trying to take down your fellows while softening your own punishment.”

“Reaching a little there, son,” chuckled Agent Strzeszewski as Clint took his seat, momentarily ignoring Michiel Van Coomb who had apparently lost his talkative tongue.

“Well my other thought was he had a thing for either Stark or Coulson,” admitted Clint. “Both of which do funny things to my blood pressure so……”

“Reaching is the safer option,” concluded Strzeszewski.

“Something like that,” nodded Clint, turning back to Van Coomb. “So, on a scale of tap to sucker-punch, how hard do I get to hit you?”

“What?” blinked Van Coomb.

“Well, a tap would mean that you’re only guilty of the original charges of fraud and embezzlement,” explained Clint. “Which you _are_ guilty of, SHIELD has better things to be doing than stepping on FBI and local-LEO toes. Sucker-punch would be you _knowingly_ aiding and abetting the kidnap, torture and trafficking of approximately one hundred children, half of whom we know to have died as a direct result.”

“I’m thinking sucker-punch,” said Strzeszewski when Van Coomb had failed to speak but had looked somewhat desperately at the camera above them.

“We’ll work up to it,” said Clint. “I’ve got instructions to leave him in something resembling one piece so others can play afterwards.”

“Afterwards?” Van Coomb repeated.

“Those original charges,” said Clint. “Isn’t SHIELD that’s going to house you. After we’ve got everything we need, there’s a white collar crime task force waiting to talk. Most of ’em are boring folks, very into their patterns and routines.”

“It was my money,” said Van Coomb. “How’s any of what I’ve done any different from what you do?”

“What I do?” repeated Clint.

“That medical charity you run,” said Van Coomb. “Your husband cuts it a big check at least once a year.”

“Uh-huh,” said Clint, pulling a sheet from the folder in front of him. “That comes from his _personal_ account after everything has been through countless auditors. _You_ , on the other hand, directly funnelled $118,000 from your company accounts into a non-profit called ‘Guiding Hand’.”

“The Starks got a monopoly of charity donations now?” asked Van Coomb.

“It’s Barton-Stark if you mean both of us,” corrected Clint. “And had ‘Guiding Hand’ actually received the money, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. As it is, they haven’t received a single cent from you or your company in over two years.”

“So my accountant put the wrong name,” shrugged Van Coomb. “I’ll get a new one when I get back to Pittsburgh.”

“Again, if this was a case of a simple clerical error we wouldn’t be talking,” said Clint. “Want to tell me what a stationery company needs with medical supplies?”

“I’m a responsible employer,” said Van Coomb with another shrug. “I felt it was in the better interests of my workers that there be more than a basic first aid kit on site.”

“But apparently no medic,” said Strzeszewski, reading the summary page of Van Coomb’s employee record.

“So no one to actually use the stuff,” said Clint. “At least not legally. And before you comment, the charity I run has seven doctors and ten nurses on staff, all of whom were subjected to an intensive background check before being appointed.”

“That mean you’ve got a couple names you can throw my way?” asked Van Coomb. “Sure you’ve had to reject a few candidates and I don’t need my workers to be so squeaky clean.”

“And here was me looking forward to adding hypocrite to your list of character flaws,” said Strzeszewski.

“Medical equipment only counts for roughly $30k though,” said Clint. “Might have to look into your supplier myself actually, see if I can’t get the running cost of _Dreams_ down a little. The other $90k, give or take a couple thousand, appears to have gone into real estate.”

“Again, not a crime,” said Van Coomb.

“No” agreed Clint, pulling a form from his folder. “But mortgage fraud is. Or do you have a better explanation for why your grandmother – who returned to The Netherlands in 1988 and who _died_ in 2016 would be owning an apartment on Pier 1?”

“She enjoyed the water front,” said Van Coomb. “She would spend hours just wandering the shore dreaming of a house with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Uh-huh,” said Strzeszewski. “Most people would scatter ashes.”

“I ain’t most people,” retorted Van Coomb.

“At least we can agree on that point,” said Clint. “But here’s what I think happened. Your grandmother died and in the process of tying up loose ends and settling the estate, you came across material that had her signature. Not completely sure what the papers were – Dutch not being a strong point for you – you brought them back to the US. It was innocent and understandable but quickly turned ugly.

“You were approached to help find space for a side venture. Something in the way it was pitched made you wary so while you were involved, you wanted a get-out-of-jail card and who better than your grandmother. Few forged documents, including a power-of-attorney, later and you have your house with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“That’s a cute story,” said Van Coomb. “You ever thought of going into the literary field? Be the next Andre Dubus – my company could supply all the notebooks and pencils you needed for the next best seller.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen your stuff around the office,” said Strzeszewski. “I can get better quality stuff at Walmart. What I’m more interested in is when you remembered your grandmother was Ashkenazi Jew.”

“Your point?” asked Van Coomb.

“Well, I doubt her dream had her house being used as a bolt-hold for kidnapped children,” said Strzeszewski. “Children who were tortured and used as lab-rats before being thrown literally in the trash when their bodies simply couldn’t cope any longer.”

“Such is the way of nature,” shrugged Van Coomb. “Altruism is a human trait.”

“Huh,” said Clint, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. “Guess David Attenborough was wrong in his dolphin documentary. But you do know the kids we’re talking about.”

“We do get the news,” said Van Coomb. “Not much else and only with meals but we get the news. Your Agent Hernandez became very focussed on dead children about two weeks ago.”

“And this morning is when you felt like being talkative,” said Clint. “Need that long to work on a credible alibi?”

“Don’t need an alibi when I haven’t done anything wrong,” said Van Coomb.

“That, at least, is true,” remarked Strzeszewski.

“But those telling the truth don’t usually list excuse after excuse,” said Clint. “Sure fire way to trip and get caught.”

“You would be the expert,” said Van Coomb. Clint chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m the point and shoot guy,” he said. “I do a lot of people watching.”

“Of course,” smirked Van Coomb. “Wouldn’t want to go killing the wrong person now would we.”

“Meaning?” asked Strzeszewski.

“Just that would mean he _meant_ to kill all those agents six years ago,” said Van Coomb. “Or that those rookies – all under the age of twenty-one I believe – he took to Kalandula were never going to make it home in one piece. That Alexei Kerzhakov was never meant to reach his eighth birthday. What would your adoring public make of that? The champion of children, the voice for the less fortunate guilty of the murder of one he claims to fight for. Your charity would certainly end up taking a hit.”

“The very fact you know that name,” said Clint, his expression darkening. “Tells me that you know more about _Pallid_ and his past than any of the others arrested with you. That in turn tells me that you are higher up the food chain.”

“So you might want to rethink this whole interrogation thing,” said Van Coomb.

“Already am,” said Clint, pushing to his feet, Strzeszewski looking at him in slight concern. Van Coomb looked smug.

“After all,” continued Clint. “The higher they climb, the harder they fall.”

* * *

“So, the part where I said ‘expect to be wound up’?” said Hernandez, coming across Clint doing his utmost to destroy the burnt out husk of a tree that had been the victim of a lightning strike a few months earlier.

“You also said we’d lose the opportunity to speak to them if we touched them,” said Clint, lowering the sturdy branch he had been using as a makeshift weapon. “Be glad I didn’t go with my first instinct.”

“Which was?” asked Hernandez.

“To introduce his face to the table then pin him to the wall like a fly,” said Clint, swinging his arm back and launching his weapon into the distance. “Not even we knew Alexei’s surname until 2001.”

“How’d we get it?” asked Hernandez.

“Not a clue,” said Clint, wrapping his arms around himself and scrubbing at his upper arm. “All I remember is Boss giving me the details to update his memorial plaque.”

“Which is where?” asked Hernandez gently.

“With Lady Liberty,” said Clint. “Said he wanted to climb to the top to see if her flame was real. I kept the original.”

“What does it say?”

“His name, dates of both birth and death and _spasibo za kryl'ya, malen'kiy_ ,” replied Clint.

“He wasn’t a random child was he?” said Hernandez. Clint shrugged.

“Honestly have no idea,” he said. “And I didn’t want to associate him with Red Room any more than we’d already been forced to do.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Hernandez. “In the meantime, what did you mean by rethinking the interrogation?”

“QNB-T16,” said Clint. Hernandez snorted.

“You do remember that’s a sedative?” he asked.

“But all our files label it a truth serum,” said Clint. “Sedation is just listed as a side-effect, something that will hopefully work in our favour, placebo effect or not. Van Coomb knows a lot more about this cell than he’s saying willingly. Even if we don’t get anything more about the kids we might get something about Mostovoi which was the whole point of the Press Conference.”

“Alright,” agreed Hernandez. “Minimal dose, one attempt and you’ll only have an hour before he falls unconscious.”

“Thank you,” said Clint with a shaky looking smile. Hernandez nodded and reached out to grip Clint’s scrubbing hand, staying the frenetic movement.

“I’ll send someone to get you when we’re ready,” he said. “You just concentrate on getting your focus back on these kids – don’t make a liar out of Alexei.”

“What?”

“Kid’s gonna be up there making sure the ones who didn’t make it out of Mostovoi’s hands alive end up in the right place,” said Hernandez. “Part of that will be promising them krylatyy luchnik will see justice done.”

The sound of a repulsor-whine followed by the signature thud of metal hitting asphalt announced the arrival of Tony, the engineer clearly handing control of the armour over to JARVIS as soon as he had a firm footing because it quickly split apart to release him.

“Please tell me I get to hit someone,” he declared, striding towards Clint and Hernandez.

“Think he’d argue about having first swing,” chuckled Hernandez, nodding at Clint.

“Depends entirely on the reason for the hitting,” retorted Tony, brushing part Hernandez to cup Clint’s face between his hands. “Soured milk really ain’t your colour, Legolas.”

“And here was me trying to set a new trend,” replied Clint, leaning into the hand like a kitten. “What are you doing here?”

“Widow needed a sketch artist and Agent wanted an update,” said Tony. “Thought I’d tag along. But I’d rather talk about your attempts at trend-setting.”

“Van Coomb knows about Alexei.”

“You got a plan for finding out how?” asked Tony, looking back at Hernandez.

“Just on my way to set it up,” said Hernandez. “Hawkeye has a few rules for you, Stark, if you’re intent on sticking around.”

“Because I do so well with rules,” said Tony as Hernandez disappeared back inside the compound. Clint shook his head and tucked himself into Tony’s side, anchoring his arms around his husband’s waist and resting his head on the engineer’s shoulder. Tony shifted his own arms to accommodate the move, though not without a little concern.

“No hitting of the detainees – apparently people who aren’t SHIELD want a turn after we’re done,” Clint said. “And Boss gets told anything useful before we act on it.”

“And if these rules weren’t there?” asked Tony, twisting to get a better look at Clint’s face.

“We’d be down at least one detainee,” replied Clint. “And an interrogation room would need at least a new coat of plaster.”

“So what’s your plan instead?” asked Tony.

“Top-shelf martini of sodium thiopental,” replied Clint with the ghost of grin.

“Nice,” smirked Tony. “Can I watch?”

“Was gonna let you deliver the shot,” said Clint.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” nodded Clint. “I get to keep startling him awake for the hour afterwards. And be there to _not_ protect his head as he face-plants the table. But, until Hernandez comes back, just hold me.”

“That I can do,” said Tony, tightening his hold around Clint and dropping a kiss on to the nearest mess of blond spikes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Russian Translations **
> 
> _spasibo za kryl'ya, malen'kiy_ – Thank you for the wings, little one
> 
> _krylatyy luchnik_ – the winged archer


	28. Chapter 28

The trip to Fort Meade had seen the Avengers and SHIELD acquire two new potential suspects and had been given enough information to rethink the positions of their various detainees with the captured cell’s hierarchy. Van Coomb – now sporting the beginnings of a spectacular bruise to his cheekbone thanks to an uncontrolled collision with the table in front of him – had provided the R&D scientists with more information on QNB-T16 and well as new lines of questioning. Cassano’s frightened confession had guaranteed him a long stay in maximum security but had also granted him the protection for his daughter and mother. The ink of Hernandez’ authorising signature was barely dry on personnel transfer orders before Clint and Natasha were off, running for the Quinjet that had been their lift to Maryland base earlier that morning, their intended destination the Helicarrier.

“No,” said Phil quietly, appearing beside Tony as the engineer sealed himself back into the Mark XXVII in preparation to follow.

“No?” repeated Tony, his faceplate not yet closed. “No to what exactly? No to joining them and helping them run whatever leads they’ve been given? No to making sure your Assets continue to pay attention to the instructions Hernandez gave them – which I thought you would agree with? No to making sure my husband and his deadly playmate don’t get caught in their tunnel vision and further hurt by a monster that _should_ have been killed nineteen years ago?!”

“No to following them,” said Phil, watching as the Quinjet took off and headed, for the moment, in the right direction. “We’re not the right people to be watching their backs right now.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You, me and Bruce,” said Phil. “Rothman _was_ right when she said we’re too close, that objectivity is a problem for us.”

“And we shot her down,” reminded Tony.

“Because at the time, that could be justified,” said Phil. “It’s kids and it’s Red Room – that’s _always_ going to get them riled but we _know_ that and can compensate. Where they are now is dangerous but we can’t chase after them.”

“Why the hell not?” growled Tony.

“Because we still need to compensate,” said Steve. “The threads they’re leaving loose are just as dangerous as the tunnel they’re running down.”

“Such as?”

“How Van Coomb knew about Alexei,” said Phil. “How closely watched the remaining families are. Who it is that actually recruited our current house guests.”

“Paper-trails?” said Tony. “You want me chasing paper-trails while our assassin twins are running headlong into a danger that’s got _you_ spooked?! Am I the only one who thinks that is a bad idea?”

“No,” agreed Phil. “But it is a far better idea than having you and Fury playing yet another protracted one-upmanship game with my Assets stuck in the middle. And it’s not all paperwork.”

“Oh?”

“Alexei?” guessed Steve.

“Alexei,” agreed Phil. “More specifically the engraver who made the memorial plaque.”

“And we’re making the huge assumption that this person is still working and that they’ll remember a specific plaque out of hundreds,” said Tony. “I can barely remember what I did _one_ year ago, let alone twenty.”

“It’s an avenue we have to explore,” said Phil. “Take Marks with you – the FBI is a remarkable memory aid.”

“For the sake of everyone’s health, I’d rather take Rothman,” said Steve. Phil nodded his assent while Tony stared at the super-soldier like he had sprouted a second head.

“Why?” he asked, not really caring that the question had come out as a whine.

“Jennifer might just work out how to open the 63rd floor windows if we don’t,” said Steve. “And we keep the focus of the media _off_ the Avengers if she’s with us.”

“Because heaven forbid we forget she’s the one who can wield an arrest warrant,” snarked Tony.

“Exactly,” said Phil. Tony sighed heavily.

“Alright, fine,” he said. “But next time we need to work with the FBI, we get a say in the who.”

“Deal,” agreed Phil with a small smile. Steve gave a nod of his own and Tony took that as permission to lower his faceplate and take off.

* * *

The visit to Zieliński and Sons revealed that the engraver who had completed the original work order had died four years earlier. Unperturbed, Rothman had pressed to speak to anyone who had been working in ’99 and ’01 – two artisans and a front counter clerk – before showing them a picture of Clint and the three composite sketches. Tony stared at her in total bemusement when she proceeded to ask if any of them recognised Clint. The trio of interviewees too looked a little stupefied by the question.

“Seriously doubt you’ll find anyone in New York who _doesn’t_ recognise him,” said one of the artisans. “He’s in the press at least once a month. He’s good people.”

“Good people?” repeated Rothman, her expression clearly expressing that wasn’t how she would phrase things.

“He got lucky and he knows that,” said the artisan, glancing at Tony. “He does what he can to pay it forward.”

“Regular bleeding heart,” said Rothman and Steve gently set a hand on Tony’s elbow in silent caution that the store was not an appropriate place to speak his mind. Not if they wanted the artisans to keep answering their questions.

“Has anyone else come in asking about him?”

“Yeah, because anyone looking for either half of the Barton-Stark partnership ignores the _massive tower_ where they live,” snorted the clerk who had run the front counter for the last twenty-five years. “Is this about those kids?”

“Kids?” repeated Rothman.

“The ones who have been all over the news,” said the clerk. “Or are the FBI and Avengers working on another case together?”

“No, that’s the one,” said Tony, seizing the opening to get something useful from the conversation. He withdrew a cotton wrapped object from his pocket and carefully unwrapped it to show a slightly tarnished bronze plate.

“Oh my,” exclaimed the clerk, examining the piece even as the artisan at their shoulder made a dive for the pile of papers that scattered somewhat haphazardly across the edge of their work table.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s familiar,” said Steve.

“Would be one way of phrasing it,” said the artisan, spreading a roll of paper flat across the counter. Tony and Steve both felt their eyes widen as they took in the wax-rubbing of a Cyrillic etched plaque, complete with a soaring eagle. The writing was identical to the one before Tony, except for a single word.

“Bastard!” snarled Tony, his grip around the plate increasing.

“More like bitch,” said the clerk.

“OK,” said the artisan. “So about three months ago, a woman came in asking if we did foreign language engravings. Told her it wasn’t something we typically did but that if she gave us a copy of what she was looking for, we could attempt to make it.”

“And how prepared was she?” asked Steve.

“You mean did she immediately pull out the rubbing?” asked the artisan. “Yeah. Said she’d found the image on the Statue of Liberty and thought something similar would make a good graduation present for her daughter.”

“And she wanted it in Russian-Cyrillic?” asked Rothman.

“That part she wasn’t budging on,” said the artisan. “Said something about her daughter going to Maryland to study the area.”

“Did she know what it says?” asked Tony, his voice subdued. Steve gripped his forearm again in quiet support. “Did she realise what she’d brought you to copy? Do _you_ know what it is?”

“The eagle is mine,” said the artisan, tapping the waxed etching. “At least the original sketch was mine.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” said Tony.

“Yes, Mr Stark, we know what it says,” the first artisan said. “And we know where it’s from. We did when the kid first came in and we still remember.”

“Our more recent customer, on the other hand, didn’t,” said the second artisan. “Said her own Russian was sketchy, that the only word she recognised was _spasibo_. But she knew the eagle was significant in Russia, same as it is in the US and asked if we could pair it with a chamomile and a rose along with a phrase in English that she wanted translated into Cyrillic. I was still working on how to blend everything together.”

“Was?” asked Rothman.

“She cancelled the order,” said the artisan with a shrug.

“About a month ago,” confirmed the clerk. “She was really apologetic about it and insisted on paying for the work already done.”

“She give a reason for cancelling?” asked Rothman. Both clerk and artisan shook their heads.

“Just that circumstances had changed,” said the clerk.

“But you kept working on it?” asked Rothman, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” shrugged the artisan. “Keeps the skills up and helps showcase what we can do. More variety we can show, the more customers we get through the door.”

“Cap, you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Tony.

“Possibly,” replied Steve. “Would we be able to take a copy of the work you completed before the order was cancelled?”

“You can have the originals,” said the artisan, moving back to the piles on his workspace. “On the condition I get them back when you’re done.”

“This is a federal case,” said Rothman. “We can’t promise that.”

“I didn’t say they had to be in perfect condition,” said the artisan, holding out a dozen-or-so sketchbook pages to Steve. “I watch enough cop shows to know that some forensic methods are destructive. What I’m asking is that you don’t shove it in a box and forget that it’s there once all this is over.”

“That we can do,” said Tony, carefully rewrapping up the plate he held and stowing it away in his pocket once more before turning to wave blandly at the CCTV camera in the doorway. “That real?”

“Damn right it is,” said the clerk. “One of eight. Want the details?”

“Actually, could I get a look at the actual set up?” asked Tony.

“Of course,” agreed the clerk and led the way into the office while Steve leant carefully against one of the counters, his attention clearly caught by the wax-rubbing and only half listening to any further questions Rothman had. The artisan who had first spoken to them tapped the rubbing.

“It looks like it’s starting to wear,” they said quietly. “We didn’t do a lot of extreme weather protection back in ’01, especially not on stuff like that. Tell him to bring it back and we’ll freshen it and treat it right.”

“I’ll tell him,” agreed Steve. The artisan nodded once before re-joining their fellow.

* * *

“Either of you care to explain the revelation you had?” asked Rothman when the trio had left the store.

“The broken Russian note that was found on Sanders’ body,” said Steve. “I think we’ve got a lead on the author.”

“And how do you plan on finding her?” asked Rothman, folding her arms. “We have no image thanks to the age of the tip. You plan on calling everyone named M Smith in the phonebook and hope you catch the right one? Assuming, of course, that this woman is using her real name.”

“JARVIS _would_ be capable of something like that,” said Tony even as Steve’s gaze danced between various city-maintained CCTV cameras.

“Can you also get the tapes of those?” he asked, pointing to the nearest obvious camera.

“All that and more, Cap,” grinned Tony.

“And again you are forgetting that for anything to be admissible as evidence it needs to be legally obtained,” said Rothman.

“Not forgetting,” said Tony. “But my way is usually quicker.”

“He’ll do it,” cautioned Steve as Tony meandered off down the street. “You’ll have until we return to the Tower or the permission will end up retroactive.”

“Is it possible for any of SHIELD to speak _without_ threatening people?” asked Rothman.

“Sometimes,” agreed Steve because it _did_ happen. “But I was just explaining the consequences of your interaction with Tony. If nothing else, he will see it as a challenge.”

“Which you aren’t going to talk him out of,” surmised Rothman. Steve chuckled as he checked for his wallet and held out the car keys.

“That just make him sneaky,” he said. “Something, I’m sure you’ll agree, we can do without just now.”

“Point,” said Rothman, accepting the keys with a sigh. Steve nodded once before following Tony down the street, the engineer’s attention apparently caught by something in one of the jewellery boutique windows.

“Oh, and Agent Rothman?” he said, spinning on his heel as if just remembering something. “We might work _with_ them but the Avengers aren’t SHIELD. And neither party has plans to change that any time soon.”

He took the scowl to mean Rothman’s reluctant understanding and turned back to join Tony, smiling gently when he saw the engineer reach out to trace the reflection of the centrepiece necklace against the window pane.

“Favourite piece?” he asked. Tony glanced briefly at his friend.

“She wore it every day,” he said, not lowering his hand and instead tracing the teardrop encased diamond. “Called it a good luck charm. I found it on the dresser just before the cops arrived to tell me about the accident.”

“What happened to it?” asked Steve.

“Buried it with her,” replied Tony. “Couldn’t bring myself to picture anyone else wearing it. Still can’t.”

“Some art is like that,” said Steve. Tony released a choked sound that both men would later deny was the start of a sob.

“That’s what Nana-Peggy told me,” he said before dropping his hand and taking a deep breath. “So, how long have you got to stall me for?”

“No time frame,” said Steve. “At least not for us. I _do_ want to take a trip out to Liberty Island though. Find out just how easy it is to ‘come across’ the plaque.”

“Lead the way, Mon Capitan,” said Tony, waving an arm out before them.

“Close supervision,” declared Steve. “Any further interaction you have with Bucky will be done under _close supervision_.”

Tony grinned.

* * *

Steve and Tony returned to the Tower around 6pm, their Liberty Island trip something of a bust thanks to ferry timings and ticket controls. JARVIS reported that the New York City authorities had willingly complied with Rothman’s request and released what footage they had. Rothman herself was still on Level 63 reviewing the progress had been made regarding the tip line and composite sketches, accompanied by her FBI compatriots. The rest of the Avengers were on the communal level where Bruce, at least, was cooking dinner.

Reaching the communal floor, they found Clint and Natasha tucked together in a tight and frighteningly familiar curl on one arm of the corner sofa, covered with a combination of a purple fleece blanket and Thor’s signature red cape. Both assassins lay in a fitful doze while the Asgardian himself sat in a meditative-looking pose on the adjacent arm, his attention fixed on his teammates. In front of him rested etched stones, each attached to an admiral blue cord. He turned as the elevator doors closed, his expression sombre. Registering his returned teammates, he scooped up two of the stones, it becoming quickly apparent that they had been styled into necklaces.

“You’re bringing us jewellery now?” asked Tony as Steve accepted the charms. “I hope you brought enough for everyone otherwise you’re going to have some jealous teammates to deal with once they wake up.”

“I brought enough,” said Thor. “With my mother’s wish for your continuing health.”

“And the kids?” asked Tony, very aware that both Clint and Natasha would refuse even a simple charm if Ashley and Zach were left unprotected.

“They have their own protections,” said Thor, glancing back at the bundled pair. “As both Hawk and Widow have been assured. There is a small problem of getting such to Lady Amira and the youngling without attracting unsavoury attention.”

“You mean we have these charms but those who actually need them are left defenceless?” demanded Tony, his expression making his feelings on that option clear.

“I did not say that,” said Thor. “She has taken the children under her close watch, the Lady Sif and her shield-sister, Kára, standing at her side in readiness to act should they receive the order. What I mean is that providing them any material representation of the magic protecting them is more complicated now that two of them have retreated into hiding.”

“I might have a solution,” said Steve, slipping the charm over his head and tucking it beneath his shirt. Thor inclined his head in thanks while Tony moved to the pair on the sofa. He was not at all surprised to find that the sound of conversation had woken them. He settled beside their heads, one hand automatically going to Clint’s hair while the other gently sought the collar of his shirt, searching for the blue cord of the archer’s own Asgardian charm.

“We’ve been compromised,” said Clint with a sigh.

“We’re no more compromised than when we started this,” said Tony with a confidence that he didn’t actually feel. Natasha smiled slightly as she recognised the dichotomy while Clint nuzzled cat-like into the hand still playing with his hair.

“Doesn’t make this any less dangerous,” said Clint.

“Actually, it does,” said Steve, causing his three sofa-sitting companions to look at him in bemusement while Thor appeared to agree with the conclusion.

“Excuse me?”

“We can plan any attack, or defence, with the assumption that our opponent will know exactly how we will react,” said Thor.

“And that’s _less_ dangerous?” asked Tony.

“Yes,” said Thor. “Because we can plan around the weaknesses they may seek to take advantage of. Be they of the Avengers, Strike Team Delta or as individual warriors.”

“We run the simulations at the Tower,” said Steve. “Using all the variables we can think of and we contingency plan from there.”

“That’s a lot of scenarios,” said Natasha as she and Clint twisted themselves up into a sitting position, Tony shuffling along the cushions in order to loop his arm around Clint’s shoulders.

“Soon as we explain what we need, we’ll run out of coffee and space before we run out of volunteers,” said Steve and _his_ confidence was anything but bravado. Tony looked at him with a small smirk as Bruce and Phil appeared carrying dishes of _arroz chaufa_ , Thor moving to gather up the tableware.

“Challenge,” the engineer said as Natasha and Clint separated. “Accepted.”


	29. Chapter 29

When he was building the Tower, Tony hadn’t given much detailed thought to the capacity beyond the numbers that had to put before the StarkIndustries board and log with various city and state authorities. Space was thought and spoken about in terms of square-feet during the construction period along with terms of height, width and length. The result of that was Tony looking incredibly bemused as dozens of troops clustered together in the training zone that was Level 66 come mid-Friday morning. Various group leaders dotted around the area, some conversing with each other and the sporadically spaced Avengers while others appeared to be keeping an eye on those they had brought with them. Given the apparent age of some of the group, Tony surmised that there were a fair number of rookies among them.

“Alright, listen up!” barked Kit as he appeared, Jaime Zhang at his side and once more demonstrating why he was one of SHIELD’s youngest Watch Captains.

“To answer the immediate questions: yes, your assignment here is related to the joint FBI-Avengers mission that appeared on the news Tuesday evening. No, I neither know _nor_ care why you specifically were chosen to join the investigation. Yes, you will be working with the Avengers, who will be far more impressed with you _doing your job_ than hearing why you were chosen to be here. Assignments have been made in line with your personnel files and latest performance reviews. They are _not_ up for negotiation.”

“Those not currently cleared to work in the field will be working with Jennifer O’Connor,” continued Zhang, reading from a tablet. “Your main task will be to help filter the tip-line calls. The exact parameters will be given by Ms O’Connor and, despite the presence of Agent Rothman and Director Coulson, _she_ is the one in charge. Of the remaining, those who have lived and/or worked in either New York City, Jersey City or Newark for at least the last ten years will be working with Captain Campbell and Agent Barton – they will detail exactly what they’re looking for. The remaining personnel will be working with the first response backup and remaining Avengers to breakdown known battle behaviours with the intention of finding solutions to potential weaknesses.”

“You want us to criticise the Avengers?” asked one of the rookies, their apparent supervisor raising a hand to pinch the bridge of their nose.

“Ashton, there is a difference between critical and constructive criticism,” they said in clear exasperation. Tony got the impression it was a familiar pattern that they would be happy to see broken.

“Which one if you is going to be leading that lesson?” Tony asked, his voice pitched just low enough that only the backup team heard him.

“LT,” grinned Officer Hansen. “We’d be foolish to deny ourselves the opportunity of watching a master at work.”

“And anyone who is willing, and able, to pull a spiralling Delta back in line with the rest of us will cope with this lot no problem,” added Oswald. Tony chuckled.

“Hawk trains his kids a little too well at times,” he said. The backup team grinned, each one of them appearing proud at the remark.

“Not gonna complain,” said Hansen, the team straightening their stance as Zhang and Kit started reeling off assignments. “Landed us one of the coolest jobs in SHIELD.”

“Glad we could oblige,” said Tony, giving a mock salute to the scrapper – Deeks – who Zhang had paired him with for the duration of the exercise.

“Got an app for this, Flash?” Deeks asked.

“Now you mention it,” grinned Tony, digging a flexi-tablet out of his pocket. “I have the very thing.”

* * *

Steve had forgotten that he got seasick.

In his defence, a majority of his travel was either land or air based and the few occasions he was on the ocean-stationed Helicarrier, he had been on the Bridge and therefore not subject to the tidal motion. Or a little more preoccupied to worry about the motion he _was_ feeling. On the Statue Cruises ferry, however, he wasn’t so lucky.

“Guess this is why there aren’t any stories about you seeking a draft with the Navy,” remarked Detective Giovinazzo as he pressed a bottle of water into Steve’s hand. Steve gave him a grateful smile and shook his head.

“Wrong part of the country,” he said. “At least to start with. After Bucky got his call-up papers for the army, it never occurred to me to try for anything else.”

“And your initial trip to Italy?” Giovinazzo asked curiously.

“Wasn’t the only one getting sick,” said Steve, taking a deep breath. “OK, why am I here?”

“You’re following up on your questions from Wednesday,” said Giovinazzo, sliding a warrant out his pocket along with his ID. “I’m your entry pass.”

“Reason on the warrant?” asked Steve.

“Search for the memorial plaque,” said Giovinazzo. “Along with the seizure of any ID records still held from our time frame and the corresponding CCTV footage.”

“You know where we should be looking,” said Steve. Giovinazzo nodded, his expression sombre.

“I was the Agent Handler for the retrieval team that got Delta out of Russia,” he said. “It was my team that got Alexei’s body out and I led the investigation that found out who he was. This is my memorial site as much as it is Barton’s and I want to know who defiled it and why.”

“You’ve got me feeling like I should’ve brought flowers,” said Steve. Giovinazzo shook his head with a slightly pained smile.

“When you find the plaque, you’ll find a better idea to bring with you next time,” he said before leading the way to the nearest Ranger station.

Even with a rough idea of what he was looking for, and an approximate idea of where to focus his search, it still took Steve the better part of half an hour to find the plaque. It wasn’t, as Steve initially thought, in the crown section of the monument but rather in the pedestal section, set at approximately the height of a seven-year-old child and positioned in such a way that it remained in sunlight as much as possible. The ranger who had accompanied him gave an abortive start when Steve crouched before the plaque, the Captain’s artist eye noting the fading and wear of both the metal and its wood mount. He gave a light chuckle at the small collection of chocolate brown, large-eared monkeys that sat on a shelf just below the plaque, protected from the public by a Perspex case.

“That must raise a lot of questions,” said Steve, returning to his full height and turning back to the ranger.

“Not as many as you’d think,” said the ranger. “The guides don’t point it out and those who _do_ ask are simply told it’s a child’s memorial. I’ve never heard of anyone asking further than that. Something tells me you know more of the story.”

“I do,” said Steve, deliberately moving away from the plaque. “But I also know it’s small and anonymous for a reason. Why did you startle when I crouched down?”

“Last person who did that got handsy,” said the ranger. “I get that people take a rubbing off Pilgrim-era gravestones and its part of the ritual of going to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial but this is different – a lot fresher and kinda like taking a rubbing from a memorial stone in Arlington. It just felt wrong to have a random stranger get so up close and personal with it.”

“When was this?” asked Steve. “And how’d you know it was a stranger?”

“About four months ago,” said the ranger. “And she wasn’t as talkative as the Detective is when he comes up or as reverent as Mr Barton-Stark is. She went straight to handsy.”

“Talkative?” said Steve, the report of Clint’s behaviour not surprising him. The ranger nodded.

“It’s like he’s keeping the kid up-to-date,” they said, pointing to the monkeys. “Each one has a story, Detective Giovinazzo holds one every time he comes up and the theme of his tale depends on which one he’s holding. Mr Barton-Stark just sits there looking like he’s meditating.”

“Probably up soaring with the eagle,” said Steve with a small smile. “You remember anything else about this stranger?”

“White, blonde hair,” said the ranger with a shrug. “Wore one of those half baseball cap things that have the shader part but not the head material. She nearly missed the ferry back to the mainland she was that determined to get a complete copy of the plaque.”

“Someone was on a mission,” surmised Steve, now confused as to why their unknown person-of-interest would give the rubbing away a month later before completely abandoning it. “She have a comment about the monkeys?”

“I’m not sure if she even realised they were there,” said the ranger.

“Definitely on a mission,” said Steve, not sure if it helped or hindered that their quarry was working with only half the pieces. “Anyone ever speak to Giovinazzo or Clint when they’re here?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” said the ranger. “But I think they’ve been visiting long enough to work out the timings of the tours so they can keep things as private as possible. The Rangers and the guides know just to leave them alone unless there’s a genuine reason they need to leave.”

“Evacuation?” surmised Steve.

“Or last ferry,” agreed the ranger. “We’ve bent the rules for them a couple times – usually when they visibly look like they’ve been having a bad day – but most of the time they blend in with the tourists as much as they can.”

“Which means someone had to be watching one, or both, of them,” grimaced Steve, not looking forward to expanding on that line of enquiry. “They ever come together?”

“Not that I know of,” said the ranger. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, just that I’ve never seen them here together. Guess the two of them together would draw too much attention.”

“Would stop it being small and anonymous,” Steve reminded, casting a final look at the memorial. “I’ve got everything I can from here, can you take me back to the station?”

* * *

“He was your last assignment with SHIELD,” Steve said quietly as he and Giovinazzo stood waiting for the ferry back to the mainland. Giovinazzo, who had been fidgeting with a roll of print-offs from the security office, drew a deep breath before nodding.

“And the reason I requested a posting with the NYPD,” he said. “It was standard protocol for a mission that went as badly south as Hawk’s mission to Russia to be investigated – officially, Alexei was a footnote, at best. The only reason we got any form of justice for him was because it was Hawk out there and, as I’m sure you are aware, he is a stubborn and tenacious son-of-a-bitch. But if we’d been just _one_ day later in finding them, all we would’ve gotten was an utterly sunk operation and _two_ boys dead before their time. He’s a ghost that neither of us can put completely to rest but the desk-flying job I had with SHIELD didn’t give me the coping mechanisms I needed. Being on the ground with the NYPD gives me more good days than bad.”

“How much of your findings does Clint know?” asked Steve, refusing to believe that the archer would ignore such a report.

“He had access to everything apart from Alexei’s relationship with his killers,” said Giovinazzo. “I’m not sure how much he actually read.”

“Why would you hide something as specific as that?” asked Steve.

“Coulson’s request,” said Giovinazzo. “Hawk was in a violent tailspin after Russia and, at the time, telling him that Alexei was a Red Room whelp had every potential of sending him over the edge. Both parents were part of their science division and both were killed by their superior when a crucial experiment went wrong. Alexei disappeared from all records until we were closing him in a juvenile body bag. The autopsy supported the idea that he’d been living rough for a period before he came back into contact with his killers.”

“Same pool of recruits as Tasha,” mused Steve, swallowing against his nausea as the ferry bobbed under the combination of the Hudson’s tide and boarding passengers. “Can I get a copy of the report?”

“It’s a SHIELD document,” said Giovinazzo with a shrug. “Coulson should be able to get at it. If he can’t, I’m sure Stark would relish the excuse to go fishing.”

“Which means Phil will do his damndest to get the report himself,” said Steve with a small chuckle. “And that you know a lot more about my team than I previously thought.”

“I resigned from SHIELD, I wasn’t burned,” reminded Giovinazzo. “I’m allowed to be kept in certain loops so I’ve had _twelve years_ of Coulson bitching about the antics of your engineer. The unauthorised foraging of his AI is a perennial favourite.”

“I wish I could say that surprised me,” said Steve with a sigh. “But he’s been doing that since the day we met.”

“Stark or Coulson?” asked Giovinazzo with a smile of his own. Steve laughed before a particularly choppy patch saw his stomach attempt to rebel once more.

* * *

When she first applied to study journalism, Jennifer O’Connor had been warned by just about everyone that any sort of progression within the field would take years while recognition in the form of the _Pulitzer Prize_ or the _Livingston Award for Young Journalists_ was the same dream everyone in the world of literature had at some point. Jennifer paid them little mind, however, convinced that journalism was where she was meant to be. That the world was full of stories waiting to be told, whether that was the comedic anecdotes from the church bake sale or the painful accounts from those struggling to cope with what life was throwing at them and who needed someone to listen. The private lives of celebrities didn’t interest her, either as a reader or a writer, the published stories seeming repetitive and headlines greatly sensationalised. She had, therefore, been highly dubious when Phil and Pepper had approached her in December ’12 and requested she interview Clint and Tony who were riding out the waves of a media storm about their intimate partnership. Even as the resulting article saw _TIME_ run a second print, Jennifer continued to tell the human stories of New York, determined that she wouldn’t become one of the rabid paparazzi that hounded the names and famous of New York society.

The memory of Happy explaining that it was precisely _because_ she preferred to tell the pauper’s real story rather than pay lip-service to the prince that he was requesting she be the one to cover his wedding to Pepper, still made her smile.

No persuasion had been needed for her to cover the wedding between Clint and Tony in April ’14 and, while to an outsider it might appear that she was selling out when she accepted a permanent role as Press Liaison, Jennifer knew that was the last thing she was doing. Where the Avengers protected with weapons of metal and energy, she protected with those of ink and paper, creating a shield that allowed the heroes to operate but at the same time formed a mirror that forced accountability.

She vividly recalled the week in July ’16 when, after a running street battle between the Avengers and AIM had put countless civilians in untold danger, she had published a scathing and damning article that had questioned whether the Avengers really were heroes or just another highly financed vigilantly group. She was convinced that she had literally written herself out of a job and, given the perceived reach of the Avengers and the _actual_ reach of both StarkIndustries and SHIELD, probably managed to blackball herself from the journalistic field in New York _at least_. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret what she had done and had attempted to give Kit and Bruce an eloquent speech to that effect when they had shown up at her apartment, both slightly distressed to find themselves surrounded by packing boxes. She didn’t get far in her speech, however, before Kit had her enfolded in his arms and Bruce calmly explained that the article had been a badly needed wake-up call for all of them and had forced them all to re-evaluate their field protocols and behaviour. They didn’t need another trumpet blower – they had enough people ready to fall over themselves to perform that task – what they needed was someone who was willing to pull them up short when they had gone too far. With Jennifer in that role, they had someone who knew both the team, some of their protocols and the media circus that every action was dragged through. That was a balancing act that only Phil and Pepper managed, though each with their own handicaps.

At the time, Jennifer had managed a choked laugh and asked if another civilian handler was what the Avengers needed, especially when that came in the form of a journalist who panicked the first time they published a critical article. Bruce and Kit had been adamant that that was _exactly_ the type of handler they needed and, watching the young woman command the multi-agency team with an easy authority that had Rothman failing to hide her jealousy, Phil allowed himself a small smile of pride.

“It’s this simple,” said Jennifer, standing in the centre of the conference room on Level 63. “We launched a tip-line on Tuesday, across twenty-five different national media outlets. The public has responded en-masse, are still responding, but we’ve gone from not having enough information to having too much. While JARVIS has been able to filter out most the irrelevant calls, we’re still dealing with thousands of calls that can’t be run through a computer programme.

“There are three categories the calls are being divided into, outside of caller location – victims, suspects and composite sketch identification. You’re looking for information about potential sightings – where, when, who, how many, what were they doing. Anything of that nature write it down and throw it up on the screen – there’s an already active colour code for the subcategories: use it! JARVIS and Director Coulson are working on the timeline so don’t worry about getting your analysis to fit together. Any questions?”

“We dealing with the West Coast too?” asked one of the FBI contingent.

“No,” said Jennifer. “The investigative team in LA is fielding those calls.”

“How far back is being determined as relevant?” asked a SHIELD Officer.

“All the calls you will be dealing with have been classified as relevant,” replied Jennifer. “Chronologically, we’re looking at anything within the last year.”

“There isn’t enough caffeine in the city to deal with that amount of inane conversation,” moaned one of the FBI cadets.

“Then you’re in the wrong job, sunshine,” retorted the oldest of the NYPD contingent. “60% of what you’ll be doing involves inane conversations in one way or another.”

“And Mr Stark is taking it as something of a challenge to ensure the coffee doesn’t run out,” said Jennifer. “Along with a selection of teas, energy drinks, water and high energy snacks. You prepared to take him up on it?”

“Where do we start?” asked the cadet, apparently relishing the thought of out doing Tony Stark.

“You’ve all been issued with headphones,” said Jennifer. “Each pair is connected to a tablet that will grant access to local maps and calendar charts. As I said, working out the _actual_ timeline for this is Director Coulson’s responsibility but it will be advantageous to have things roughly plotted. You will _not_ have access to the details plotted by each other, deliberately, to prevent your own investigative pursuits on this. Having said that, you will also have access to word processing apps so you can note any observations you might have. There’s also the option to have the audio feed displayed in text format should this prove easier. JARVIS?”

“Files and options have been downloaded,” said the AI. “And cut off time set for 1400 hours.”

“We only have two-and-half-hours?!” exclaimed one of the younger NYPD contingent, the SHIELD Officer beside them looking equally alarmed at the prospect.

“Until your first enforced break,” said Phil. “So far, we’ve discovered that only senior Agents and billionaire scientists can run on coffee alone. The rest of you require proper food and JARVIS is well practiced in ensuring that requirement is met.”

Jennifer _just_ managed to catch her laugh at the ensuring scramble of activity.


	30. Chapter 30

Saturday morning found Tony sitting in the communal kitchen _wishing_ he had spent the previous night revisiting some old habits of wild, late night partying. That way he wouldn’t be feeling the wrenched muscles in his shoulder and neck – he’d be too busy bemoaning the hangover those nights had once induced. Kit and Zhang’s plan to have others breakdown the Avengers’ battle tactics worked on paper – it was _superb_ on paper and Tony had taken legitimate notes with the hopes of improving the team’s performance – but now that he was feeling every one of his forty-nine years, he was once more drawing the conclusion that Delta’s reputation of being among the best was not a good thing. Especially when you were on the receiving end of those skills. The _reason_ Delta, along with Strike Teams Phi and Sigma, had the reputation they did was because they practiced their moves before they went into the field. Sparring sessions, weapons drills, minutiae breakdowns of plans, situational awareness runs, alteration of team rosters, deliberate trails with malfunctioning equipment or weapons – if it had the potential to affect the outcome of a mission, Delta, Phi and Sigma trained to utilise and adapt it to their advantage. The Specialist teams who worked as their back-up had learned to adapt their own strategies with equally split-second precision and the result was an incredibly skilled, adaptive and powerful force running around in whatever shadow SHIELD was casting.

“Let’s _not_ tell Fury just how well trained his secret army is,” Tony said, groaning lightly as Thom pressed a frozen gel-pack to his trapezius. “Doesn’t need to add that detail to his world domination plans.”

“You’re assuming it isn’t already there,” remarked Kit from the other end of the breakfast island where he sat with Zhang, Steve and Thor already going through the results from the previous day’s activities and trying to translate them into a workable battle strategy. “This _is_ Nick Fury we’re talking about.”

“Probably knows how our borrowed quasi-civilians would fair in SHIELD too,” added Zhang. “He’s not gonna let just anyone learn how to take out SHIELD’s poster team of superheroes.”

“Not superheroes,” said Steve, looking up in search of the bottle of juice he and Thor were steadily demolishing between them.

“There are several _thousand_ people who would disagree with that assessment,” said Zhang with a snort. “And not all of them are civilians.”

“To be seen as a hero is not necessarily a bad thing,” said Thor, looking at Steve. “It can call many warriors to arms and turn the tide of battle.”

“Hero isn’t a title we give ourselves,” said Steve. “It’s one that the press and survivors give after we’ve pulled off a successful mission. At the moment, I’m not feeling at all heroic.”

“But the call to arms thing might have some merit to it,” said Bruce as he appeared, snagging a cup and spiced teabag. “We’ve _still_ got twenty otherwise benched LEOs helping Delta and Jennifer trawl through the tip-line results and two teams of Specialists running drills in our training rooms. Captain Gideon has also shown up with a plan and a request.”

“Gideon?” asked Tony.

“Plan?” continued Steve.

“Remember the ship the SAFE Team were investigating?” said Bruce, running his teabag through his mug of water. “That one was a bust but something inspired further investigation of a sister ship. They want to board her and carryout a search, seizure and rescue.”

“Rescue?” said Tony, the entire cohort straightening up. “They’ve found kids?”

“I have no idea,” said Bruce. “I only got a brief synopsis from JARVIS as I came to get you. All I know for definite is Gideon’s waiting down on Level 64 for an escort up to the War Room.”

“Does SAFE already have authorisation to arrest folk or do we need the Feds too?” asked Tony, turning to Kit and Zhang.

“Not a clue,” said Kit while Zhang shrugged. “JARVIS?”

“SAFE Teams have the same authorisation as federal agents,” replied JARVIS.

“Then why the hell have we been entertaining three of them for weeks?!” demanded Tony as Bruce disposed of his teabag.

“This was a VCACITF case first,” reminded Steve. “We’re only involved because of the link with Delta and a nineteen-year-old half-finished SHIELD mission.”

“And because of that prior involvement, SAFE cannot join unless invited,” said JARVIS.

“So, if someone _hadn’t_ joined the dots……” started Tony.

“We would be weeks behind, if involved at all,” said Bruce, a note of chastisement in his voice. “We wouldn’t have the intel or experience we have with their involvement.”

“Since when did you get so cosy with the FBI?” Tony asked, squinting at his friend in suspicion. “Or _anyone_ wearing a law enforcement badge for that matter.”

“About the same time _you_ started becoming friendly with anyone SHIELD that isn’t a Coulson,” replied Bruce.

“It’s a logistics preference,” said Tony, slumping back down across the table, Thom swooping in to replace the icepack with a medicated heat patch.

“And an ego one,” said Bruce bluntly. “You know the leeway we have with SHIELD. Most of it is justified but there is a reason some see us as vigilantes or just plain getting our own way.”

“Alright, this isn’t helping,” interjected Steve before Tony could respond. “Bruce and Tony go escort Gideon up to the War Room. Thom, I want you sitting in on the briefing. Thor, you too.”

“Sure,” agreed Thom while Thor nodded.

“JARVIS, any of COBALT idling somewhere close?”

“Legionnaire Squadron Commander O’Connell is on sub-level 2 with four others,” replied JARVIS. “They are performing maintenance checks.”

“Could you ask her to join us,” said Tony as he slid to his feet.

“Very good, Sir,” said JARVIS. “Do you wish to relay scrambling protocol to the rest of the pilots?”

“Initial alert,” said Tony. “The four here can get most of the stuff ready on their own until we have a proper plan.”

“Very good, Sir,” agreed JARVIS. Tony looked at Steve.

“You coming with?”

“No,” said Steve. “The three of us will keep working on streamlining the data that was collected yesterday. You need to actually _listen_ to Gideon, alright? _Don’t_ steamroll him into doing things your way.”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Tony and Steve gave him a small smile.

“He can be taught!” grinned Thom as Bruce led the way out of the room and Tony took a playful swipe at the paediatrician’s shoulder as he passed.

* * *

“Alright, Gideon, what was your plan of attack here?” asked Tony when everyone was settled around the War Room conference table. “And exactly which toys are you wanting to borrow?”

“We’re on the same side, Tony,” said Bruce, pinching the bridge of his nose, the hint of chastisement still in his voice. “But, if it makes you feel any better, he’s a rookie-mate of Phil’s.”

“You read my file,” said Gideon while Tony’s expression turned contemplative and Thor appeared to relax slightly.

“Standard with us I’m afraid,” said Bruce though his expression was anything but apologetic. “Extra security for making sure we make it home again.”

“We’ve heard the stories,” said Gideon with a small incline of his head in understanding. “And done the same ourselves, especially if we become involved in already running long-term assignments.”

“What aid is it that you seek, Captain Gideon?” asked Thor.

“Mainly those thermal detections drones that _StarkIndustries_ deployed in the Alps last winter,” said Gideon. “The ones that took part in the search and rescue. And about ten of the Iron Legion.”

“And do what with them, exactly?” asked Tony.

“Have them support my team,” said Gideon. “A ten-strong team would board our target vessel from a combination of air and sea. If we scan with the drones first, we can locate and neutralise the crew with greater surprise, lower resistance and therefore fewer casualties. We’d then use the search and rescue tech to help us conduct a systematic search of the cargo containers, seizing any materials found and evacuating any stowaways.”

“That’s not the way the Legion works,” said Legionnaire Squadron Commander O’Connell from where she sat between Tony and Thom. Gideon blinked at her but Bruce momentarily waved away the statement.

“What’s the vessel called?” he asked instead.

“ _Eastern Sunrise,_ ” replied Gideon. “She’s registered out of Hong Kong.”

“JARVIS, find her specs,” ordered Tony.

“Retrieving now, Sir,” replied JARVIS.

“Why are you tracking and looking to board this ship specifically?” asked Bruce as the desired imagery flickered up on to the War Room projection screens. O’Connell and Thom immediately grabbed for a copy to display on their embedded tablets.

“She’s carrying five containers that have a travel history that fit – almost a little _too_ neatly – into the patterns Captain Rogers and Delta established a few weeks ago,” replied Gideon. “According to both her digital trace and those of our target containers, she docked at Oakland eight days ago where a third of her cargo was unloaded. She then proceeded southwards and made her way through the Panama Canal, emerging into the Caribbean Sea yesterday afternoon. Her digital signal has her currently sailing past Jamaica. The plan is to intercept her as she sails due east of the Bahamas.”

“When?” asked Tony.

“Assuming she’s being driven a full speed, approximately twenty-two hours,” replied Gideon. “We ain’t got a problem waiting if they’re easing off the gas a little.”

“Why’re you waiting that long?” asked Thor, as Tony threw a map of the Caribbean and zooming in on the island cluster in question, JARVIS charting the expected route and boarding location of the _Sunrise_.

“It’s easier,” said Gideon pointing to the Windward Passage which separated Cuba and Haiti by a mere fifty miles. “Logistically and politically. Stopping a ship in that area potentially blocks a shipping lane – both private and commercial – but there isn’t the same risk further north. And we’re far less likely to run risk of hitting territorial waters and overlapping jurisdictions if we wait.”

“She’s registered in Hong Kong not the US,” said Bruce. “How do you have authority to arrest?”

“SHIELD has a Hong Kong station,” said Gideon. “They’re coordinating with the local authorities; technically, my team is just the boots on the hull-plating. And the folks we’re potentially arresting have a strong link to crimes that are being committed on US soil.”

“Which means we can keep them?” asked Tony.

“Agent Quan is doing his best to encourage that outcome,” said Gideon. “Ultimately, I think that decision will be based on any arrestees’ nationality.”

“How does my squad work into this?” asked O’Connell. “And why isn’t Cortez involved here?”

“I have taken the liberty of alerting Squadron Commander Cortez that his presence is requested urgently,” interjected JARVIS.

“Who is Cortez?” said Gideon, looking a little confused.

“Squadron Commander for the Mark armours,” said O’Connell. “The Legion is made of two Squadrons – I only command the Legionnaires, which make up the _search_ part of the whole search and rescue idea. Cortez commands the Mark armours that make up the _rescue_ part. And given previous estimates on how many potential casualties you may end up discovering, you’re going to need the whole Legion.”

“Which means?” said Gideon.

“Twenty-strong,” said O’Connell. “This moment in time, that’s looking like ten Legionnaires to support your search, ten Marks to carry out the rescue.”

“There’s no way to combine that?” asked Gideon. “Even with just the Legionnaires, this is looking at twenty-two strong but we can at least stagger it.”

“I thought your team ran no bigger than ten,” said Tony, looking up from his own copy of the _Sunrise_ schematics.

“It doesn’t,” said Gideon. “But on this occasion, I’m willing to offer two spots to the Avengers – the who is _your_ team’s decision. Expanding things to _thirty_ -two makes this too big and we run the risk of spooking our prey before we get close enough to do anything useful.”

“Legionnaires and Marks have a different purpose and subsequently a different make-up,” said O’Connell. “The Legionnaires are basically unmanned drones and are used to make an area safe. We have the tech to carry out a number different search techniques but it is the _Marks_ that have the capacity to physically carry out the actual rescue, typically coming in as a second line.”

“ _One_ of your armours makes a very distinctive sound,” said Gideon, turning to Tony. “How do you propose to keep _twenty_ from going unnoticed until we want them to be?”

“The Legionnaires are made of similar stuff to the Air Force’s stealth UAV drones,” said Tony. “And most of the noise is from take-off and landing – the first our targets won’t hear, the second means it’ll be too late for them to do anything.”

“Except alert someone that they’ve been made,” said Gideon, folding his arms. “That’s _if_ they don’t catch you on radar first.”

“We usually fly in a tight formation,” said O’Connell. “And the units are capable of transmitting dummy frequencies. Both should work to confuse any radar and disguise our numbers.”

“And Cortez’ unit?” asked Gideon.

“Can transmit the same signals if necessary,” replied O’Connell. “But because they’re second line, they typically fly higher and with some version of a time delay.”

“I’d also suggest having your med-evac sites pre-warned to expect trauma cases,” said Thom. “Increase the chances of them surviving and decrease the arguments as to who goes where.”

“Evac to the nearest Helicarrier is standard procedure,” Gideon said. “Give me a _good_ reason why I shouldn’t keep following it.”

“You’re planning on transporting their captors to the same place,” said Tony. “Excuse me for not trusting the security of the Helicarriers, even if it was upgraded post-Loki.”

“There’s also the issue that Helicarrier medical facilities aren’t meant for the long term care our potential victims will need,” said Thom. “If their conditions are anything like what we already seen, evacuation straight to land based trauma units is the better option.”

“Could always split the difference,” said O’Connell. “Serious concerns go straight to land while the more minor injuries go to the Helicarrier. The Legion doesn’t fly without there being at least one field-medic on the line, we could cue up another three to help make the triage decisions.”

“Three?” repeated Gideon, even as Tony looked mildly bemused by the number.

“Officers Zoë Harrison and Carter Hamilton from the Avengers’ RRT and Captain Campbell’s squad, respectively,” said O’Connell.

“And me,” finished Thom.

“I’m not taking a civilian,” Gideon immediately negated.

“ _Technically_ , the only people you’re _taking_ with you are whichever Avengers join your team,” said Tony. Bruce kicked his ankle while Thom straightened himself up, ready for a fight.

“I’m not a civilian,” he said. “I’m not field or front line but the same folks that sign your pay check sign mine as well.”

“He _also_ specialises in paediatrics and has been studying the autopsy reports from this case,” said Bruce. “Of everyone involved, he’s the one who’s got the best idea of how the potentially drugged state of our victims will present and what dangers come with.”

“So basically, I’m getting you whether I want you or not?” asked Gideon looking at Thom, his tone indicating that he did not appreciate the forced personnel injection.

“Something like that,” said Tony with a shrug. O’Connell and Thom shot him an exasperated look, causing the engineer to slouch back into his chair.

“Given the causalities we’re expecting to find, Cortez is likely to get him on the line anyway,” said O’Connell, hoping to placate the SAFE Captain. “Having him there from the off would cut out the delay of finding him which means our casualties get the right help quicker. While Harrison, Hamilton and your own medics are sorting the actual wounds and working out where they should be evacuated to, Thom can be informing the relevant medical teams what to expect.”

“Fine,” accepted Gideon, though his reluctance was clear. “But Cartwright has field lead.”

“That, I’m not going to argue,” assured Thom. Gideon nodded once before turning back to Tony.

“And how quickly can you assemble your pilots?” asked Gideon.

“JARVIS?”

“Relaying scramble protocol now, Sir,” responded the AI. “Squadron Commander Cortez has already arrived and has initiated deployment protocols. May I suggest Officer Thomson as replacement for Officer Austen?”

“They completed the necessary training scenarios?” asked Tony, looking at O’Connell.

“Of course,” replied JARVIS, causing the Squadron Commander to chuckle.

“They showed an aptitude for Legionnaire 17,” O’Connell said with a sly grin.

“Oh, it’s _that_ Officer Thomson!” said Tony echoing the grin while Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose in mild exasperation. Gideon let his expression fall into one of professional neutrality as he followed the Avengers, O’Connell and Thom back to the elevators that led to the Iron Legion’s sub-basement.


End file.
